Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Oxford needs a manicure.

For those of you keeping track, yes, I am the "momma" to a fluffy Himalayan cat. Why? Number one, I love cats. Sorry, I'd be a cat lady if allowed. LOVE. THEM. Number two, I'm allergic to most other cats. It sounds backwards, I'm aware, but short-haired domestic cats make me sneeze and make me want to claw my eyeballs right out of my head. (However, this does not stop me from snuggling them and petting them and playing with them. I love them that much.) I realized through my parents that Himalayan cats do not cause such a reaction. Therefore, if I wanted to live with a cat and retain my eyeballs, I had to get a Himalayan. That's how I came to own my little bubs.

Now, Himalayan parenting* comes with additional challenges in addition to the usual pet issues. They need to be brushed frequently to prevent matting and knots in their fur. They need to have their faces wiped down because the flat faces, while cute, can create drainage issues. Sexy, right?

Last night, I was attempting to comb Oxford. He unequivocally hates this activity. I usually have to pin part of his body down and fake let him go, only to catch him and pin him to the ground. This might sound mean, but if they get knots, they pull at their tiny little bodies and cause problems. So he must be combed. Oh, and the person that said if I did it from a young age? You lied. I brushed that little asshole from the day I got him at 7 weeks old and he NEVER liked it.

Of course, I do the occasional lion cut to make life easier on both of us. He doesn't have to do the whole "I'm pissed and going to claw out your eyes"" thing, and I don't have to treat my wounds with hydrogen peroxide. Chicago winters make me not want to do this, however. So in the winter, Oxford gets brushed. I usually bleed, but he gets brushed, looks pretty, and gets really pissed off.

So, back to last night. I was brushing him with the FURminator, a relatively fantastic grooming device that not only pulls out any tangles, but also thins out the coat to create less potential for mats in the fur. Of course, this particular brush is the one Oxford hates the most. He cowers and runs from me at the very sight of this brush, so I have to hide it behind my back as I approach him. I was really getting him groomed last night when he got me. His nail stuck into my leg so far, it got stuck. Of course, it hurt like mad. It was more of a puncture wound than the usual scratch. Clearly, grooming time was done. I was covered in a thick coat of shedded cat fur, bleeding from my leg, and near tears. Time to put the brush away. I cleaned myself up and was done for the night. I attempted to woo him back to me with his favorite treat, but he was still rather cautious around me.

This morning, he started clawing at me from the bed, as he does sometimes. (He likes to establish that once I leave, the bed is his territory, and he will defend it.) Well, I felt his claw and realized that I should check his nails to make sure we don't have another ingrown dew claw. (That was a rather pricey incident that caused my vet to look rather judgily at me.) I picked him up to check, which I can usually do with relative ease when he stuck me again. RIGHT. IN. THE. THROAT. I removed his claw carefully, then hurried to the bathroom.

It didn't appear to be quite as bad as my leg, so I was relieved. Another swabbing of hydrogen peroxide and I was on my way to the gym.

Rest assured, in addition to some combing, that cat is getting his damn nails clipped tonight.

* Do I sound like a pretentious douche for saying "parenting" instead of ownership? Or perhaps I sound animal crazy? I don't care. I suspect it's a side effect of cat scratch fever, which I am sure I have given the amount of blood my cat has drawn via his claws.

1 comment:

  1. Wow. What a jerk! I would never have guessed that a creature who looks like he should be used for dusting the floors could be such a vicious little fucker.
    Sorry you had a rough night with him.

    PS HAHAHAHA My word verification is TACKLED. Images of you tackling ox abound.