Never try to shave a cat. I do not care if the cat in question is the most kind and playful, peaceful and loving, kitten in a teacup on a calendar cat alive -- once you try to shave it that cat will turn into a miserable hellbeast that not even Satan himself will want to deal with. Trust me, I know.
Alice is, by far, not the nicest cat on the planet. Actually, he's kind of a dick. Maybe it's because I named him Alice, but that isn't important right now. He comes in when he wants to, leaves as soon as he has eaten, and gotten what attention he desires. Plus, he starts fights with anything -- no matter what it's size. Sometimes I think I only keep him around to remind me of how good I have it with Ryan, because he's exactly like all the other jerks I dated before. But, I digress. My point is, I should have known better than to try and shave Alice, especially at this time of year. You see, right now all of the fruit trees in our backyard are in full bloom, which means it's rat hunting season. I have already had to pick up three carcasses, and I'm sure there are various body parts I just haven't seen scattered about our yard. I fully expect to come out one day to find Alice wearing a rat head as a hat. Every day it doesn't happen I thank my lucky stars. Yet, knowing what a pain in the ass, natural born killer he is, I decided Alice needed a trim -- and that I was the person to do it.
Really though, I had no choice -- he was disgusting. He came into the house yesterday and his butt looked like a Rastafarian. Or, actually, it was worse. His butt looked like the head of a white kid who has started listening to Bob Marley and stopped showering. He had mats the size of may hand, probably from rolling in the rotten fruit that had fallen on the ground, or worse. Whatever had caused them, the mats had to be gone before Alice tried to lay on my brand new couch, so I grabbed the scissors.
I had gotten half way through the first of the smaller mats when Alice first drew blood. He turned around and scratched me, making sure his claw went in deep enough that I had to physically remove it. And then, I swear, he smiled. And I wished I had named him Priscilla. I then decided it was time to bring out the big guns.
This is when I am glad Ryan does not read this blog on a regular basis. You see, in order to rid Alice of his butt dreads I decided to use Ryan's beard trimmer. I figure if it could get through mess on Ryan's chin after we have been traveling the world (I have pictures) it could handle anything.
I walked up behind Alice with the trimmers stuffed in the back of my sweatpants. I didn't want him to know anything was going on. I petted him twice and then BAM! I put him in the kitty sleeper hold and started shaving. Then I started bleeding. I don't know how that little fucker did it, but suddenly claws from all four paws were sunk into my chest, arms, and legs -- and his teeth were aimed towards my jugular. It was like Alien -- only not as cute. The yowls that came from him woke the dead. I know that because the rat I had just thrown in the garbage can started yelling for us to shut up. I was determined though, and so I shaved on. The fur was piling up like cord wood -- and then Alice took his final shot. He turned his head around, looked me straight in the eyes, and purred. Little bastard.
I let him go -- and I opened a can of wet food for him to boot. That was really a bribe though. I don't want him spilling the beans about my using Ryan's shaver...