Pre-haircut – Mr. Fatboy with the Fatman
Well, it turns out that if this writing thing doesn’t work for me, I can get a job as a cat hair stylist. As long as you don’t mind if your cat looks like it’s been attacked by a drunk sheep shearer.
I have a lovely manx cat that is fifteen years old. From the time he was little he had haircuts, starting with a Mohawk at eight weeks. He had hot rod flames cut into his furry sides at one time too (I have a picture, but I’d have to find it, scan it, etc. and I’m too lazy). The thing is, I didn’t do this to him. Someone back in our old hometown always did it and made it look so easy. It’s not that easy.
It’s been really hot here. I mean yucky hot. Air conditioning hot and we hate the air conditioner and rarely use it, but it’s been on for a week. The cats have all been spending their time becoming one with the porch. Anyway, Mr. Fatboy (and that’s not a derogatory name, by the way…it’s in reference to the The Fatman, or Buddha), looked particularly hot yesterday and I just thought I’ll run the clippers over him. A half hour later, I was buried knee-deep in cat fur and he looked like he’d been attacked. The lovely thing is that he didn’t mind. He purred the whole time and just looked at me like he couldn’t believe I loved him enough to “pet” him for so long. For a second it was like having a dog instead of a cat. All that adoration.
The fabulous Eileen Cook had this to say in Mr. Fatboy’s defense:
What have you done to Mr. Fatboy! The man has to go out you know. Do you think he wants the other cats to know his MOM cuts his hair?
Send pictures……
I’ve decided not to humiliate him further by getting out the Kodak, so you’ll just have to use your imagination. Today I’m going to try and even it up a bit…famous last words…I think my husband has already made him a hair appointment though. This time with a professional groomer who moonlights as a writer.
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