Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways?

Monday, June 7, 2010

Removing hair from overly sensitive areas.

God bless the forward-thinking entrepreneurs who will show up in a van, fabulously equipped with restraining devices and specialized equipment, and shave your kitty right in your own driveway.**

Get your mind out of the gutter, perverts. It's a mobile pet groomer.

Bitezilla is a long-haired black cat, and thus, suffers from heat exhaustion in the summers. For the last week, it's been humid and in the nineties. Poor little bastard has been panting; his normally pink nose has been brick red, and he's been an even more miserable bastard than usual. I'd shave him myself, but the sight of blood -- particularly my own -- makes me nauseous. Bitey is a great deal like a four-footed Cuisinart when he gets cranked up, and I'm happy to pay professionals to risk life and limb. 

I called and made an appointment, and the gentleman showed up this afternoon at the appointed time. I scooped up His Vileness from his napping position and delivered him into the hands of Torquemada -- or so you would have thought, from the howls of indignation. Thirty minutes later, he was delivered back with a lion cut, and all sorts of tail-lashingly pissed off. I paid the groomer and then as an afterthought, threw him a tenner as a tip. He beat a hasty retreat.

Back skin all a'twitch, Bitezilla haughtily removed to the living room, where the Wee Ginger Beastie was napping under cubboo. He assumed his customary position next to her, glaring at me through slitted green eyes.  She, of course, was quite shocked when she woke up to see Bitey -- who had been fully furred and sleeping next to her when she went to sleep  -- in such a state.  "That kitty's nekkid as nekkid can be! Him's all jiggly now!"

It's quite true. All that fur hides a multitude of bulbous fleshy bulges and saggy pouches. If he's not swanning about like a tarty little minx, his skin puddles in a most unflattering way.

He suffered through her petting him all over his jowly belly, and then disappeared upstairs to plot his revenge. I'm girding my ankles with Kevlar tonight.

**Calling your husband at work and matter-of-factly announcing that you're having your p*ssy shaved right then and there will result in hilarity. Trust me on this.


  1. "Bitey is a great deal like a four-footed Cuisinart when he gets cranked up..."

    Dang! Must remember to set drink down when reading your blog. Good stuff!


  2. I'd vote for a mullet next time. Bitey seems to deserve humiliation.

    This, by the way, merely reinforces my decision to never again own a cat.

  3. Just reinforces the idea that cats are indeed Lucifer's Pets.

    I suggest a bath in Holy Water next time. Just to be sure.

  4. You had me at Four-Foot Cuisinart.

    Okay, you had me at the footnote, but the Cuisinart thing made for gold.



  5. "Get your mind out of the gutter, perverts."

    How did you know my mind was in the gutter?


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