Every summer we go through the same thing. I begin to notice that I am avoiding petting the cat (even more so than usual) because the slightest touch will release a shower of cat hair all around me and I will be walking around in a perpetual state of cat hair up my nose. If you are thinking, “Why isn’t she just using a cat hair brush ten times a day?” there is an outstanding reason for this. She is lazy. There is no other reason needed.
Time to shave the cat.
My Now Husband Dan and I put it off for a couple days. We knew what was in store. We pretended we were not walking around in a whirl of fur. The cat, Miracle, in a perverse attempt to seal her own doom, decided to nest in the antique red Chinese chest that sits next to my bed and where I store my winter gym clothes and pajamas. Clean and folded. Ready for next season. Within hours, Miracle turned the clothes into a furry mess.
REALLY time to shave the cat.
It is only at times like this that we have observed fully functioning brain cells in Miracle. Normally, she is oblivious to pretty much everything around her, including, in recent years, the next door neighbor’s cat. But as soon as we verbalized the words “groom” and “shave,” she began lurking in corners. The call to the groomer was made. Miracle ran to the front door. We refused to open it. The cat carrier was brought up from the basement and placed on the table. Miracle made a vain attempt to melt into the space under the family room coffee table.
Suddenly, she was gone. As in really gone. She had gotten past us and through the cat door leading to the basement. I knew exactly where she would be: in the far recesses of the partially dug out part of the basement. The last time a human being went back there was 1995 and he was being paid handsomely to do it. A trip down to the basement confirmed it. Two beady eyes stared back at me across the dirt No Man’s Land.
The appointment was cancelled. I was told to get Miracle there anytime before 2PM and they would take her. It was a waiting game. We outlasted her. After about three hours of sitting in the exact same spot, she cautiously made her way back upstairs. We were ready. We had covered the carrier with a large towel, so as to disguise it as a cat carrier covered with a large towel. Miracle was fooled. Sort of.
We chased her around the house, managed to throw a towel over her, wrap her up completely in it and deposit her into the cat carrier. The rest is history.
Until next year.