For any cat fanciers out there, I'm sure you can feel my pain. I have a 23 pound long haired black cat named Dante. Dante is a sweetheart. He's affectionate without being pushy, which is difficult in this house, and he treats the little cats well. He's one of the two cats I bought. He was a kitten on sale because he was sick :( so we bought him and made him all better.
Hold on. Let me reiterate my main thought. TWENTY THREE POUNDS. LONG HAIR.
Get the picture?
At any rate, Dante's only drawback is that he isn't the cleanest cat in the world. I mean heck! That's a lot of hair to groom. So, every once in a while, for his health and my sanity (not to mention the preservation of my carpets) I have to shave the cat. Dante HATES being shaved. Hell, I hate shaving him. Thank god he's declawed. So today, after he leaves me a little present right in front of the cat box (thank you, you bastard) I took it upon myself to restrain the squirming, completely frantic feline and shave him down.
To the skin.
He has his ruff and a pouf on his tail (after all, it is summer and there are flies) and looks absolutely retarded. For those of you who don't know, a black cat does not have black skin. He looks like an Andy Warhol silkscreen. Then I had to bathe him. Imagine if you will popping a completely traumatized half-bald cat into a tub of soapy water (with skin agents, natch) and scrubbing him down. If nothing else, he does feel better now--at the moment he's running around with a toy mouse in his mouth.
I, on the other hand, am exhausted.
Oh, and the total word count last night? *grin* 9,430 words. Looks like the bitch is back.