The Little Criminals, Part II
One of the first things people point out about cats is their ability to groom themselves. Generally speaking, it IS nice.
Except on those days when you realize they’ve shed so much in a week that you’re nice cream couch is now woolly and tabby-coloured, and there’s enough fur on the bathroom floor to make an extra cat, but then you’d be outnumbered and that would be a BAD, BAD thing.
So we attempt to brush the L.C.’s every day.
There are days when they both appreciate the brush, and all that excess fur is dealt with in a couple of minutes. It amazes me that so much comes off, but I’m so grateful I don’t want to think about it too much.
Then there are the days when the big one decides this is a contact sport akin to rugby, and I end up chasing him round the apartment until he’s tired, at which point his bones melt and he slithers under the couch. Sometimes this is accompanied by some colourful language – from me, not him. So far as I know he only understands, but doesn’t speak, Spanish.
Once in a while they need a bath, but those occasions are rare and not even spoken of in whispers – too traumatic, too undignified for all of us. Except the part where I laugh and say they look like soggy rats.
Here’s the rub though: If we don’t at least attempt to brush them, we get the opposite of the silent treatment.
I swear they’re trying to make me nuts.