I Feel Pretty

I am one of those people who takes very little time in the morning to get ready.  I take a shower, throw the hair into a ponytail, and out the door I go, sans makeup, sans fuss.  This strikes me as amusing considering how much I love makeup.  I like to buy it, I like to look at it.  I like to put it on.  I just don't like to put it on when it causes an inconvenience or is more trouble than it's worth.

The less time I have to spend being presentable in the morning, the happier I am.

This has rubbed off on my pets.  Grooming is not one of their favorite things.  That's funny as well considering cats generally spend the 90%  of the time they are awake grooming themselves.  Not my cats.  Puckett is so fat she can't reach anything but her front paws and Willow for some reason is uninterested in grooming herself.  Because of this both of them have developed mats in their fur.  Puckett's mats are the result of laziness and portliness.  Willow's mats are a result of her very fine fur and thick undercoat.  That and a stubborn refusal to let me brush her.  I have to sneak attack her every day with the brush and remove one mat at a time before she claws the hell out of me and runs away.

It's a miracle I have not developed cat scratch fever.

The last struggle had me coming away with scores down both wrists and bite marks in my hands.  My coworkers thought I'd made an attempt to trespass somewhere guarded by a rottweiler.

Welcome to the friendly neighborhood rottweiler - a six pound, bug-eyed tabby cat.

Trimming Willow's nails is an even more traumatic experience.  One would think I was murdering her and dismembering her one limb at a time.  It requires me holding her down (gently) and taking the nail clippers to her little carpet shredders.  She screams and yowls like nobody's business and since she's boneless anyway, keeping a hold of her is quite the chore.  It almost requires a kitty straight jacket.  The last time I trimmed her nails Percy was sure I was killing her.  He came up and slurped her right up the side of the head in reassurance which only served to infuriate her more.

We both got the tar beaten out of us that night.

Puckett is a little better about brushing.  I have to attack her daily with the comb as well and remove a mat at a time, but she does not attempt to pummel me into the ground for my efforts.  She does, however, spin circles while I chase her around trying to hook the teeth of the comb into her fur.  When she has enough she runs upstairs and gives me the "glare."  This morning she pooped on the floor. That's her way of saying, "Not cool, Mom."

I don't even try to trim her nails.  First of all she isn't destructive with them.  She claws only what she is supposed to.  Secondly, manhandling 23 pounds of cat to the ground to try and trim her claws is basically committing suicide.  If one is feeling a kamikaze wish, then by all means.  She has been known to beat the snot out of me when I've tried to put her in a cat box.  Which is why she now rides along in the car on the front seat like a diva rather than in a kitty carrier.

Tess is a water dog.  She loves to swim.  I take her down to the river where she jumps right in and swirls around making waves and ripples while trying to shovel as much of it in her mouth.  I've taken her to the lake and she will swim all day, until she is ready to collapse, and still be ready for more.

I bring out the hose to give her a bath and it's like the world has ended.  If I don't leash her first she runs away.  She will go right into her dog house and good luck dragging her back out.  Once I have her secured, I have to hold her leash with one hand, while turning the hose on her with the other.  She stands there with a mournful, horrified expression like I have just condemned her to a place with no doggy bones.  I soap her up with her specially formulated anti-allergen doggy-safe shampoo and she gives me this look like I'd better watch my back at night.  Once she's done she does the doggy happy dance all over the yard.  All is right once again in Tess world.  I don't even try to trim her nails.  That's what the pavement is for when we go for walks.

Percy is the best of all of us.  He grooms constantly.  His coat is testimony of this as it is a beautiful shiny coal black.  I can clip his claws with absolutely no fuss.  He snuggles into my lap and purrs happily.  When he's not cleaning himself, he is licking Willow or Puckett's heads, cleaning them as well.  He'll even lick the lotion right off my legs if I let him.

Isn't it funny that the one who spends the most time in the bathroom is the male?