Past blog postings have often included references, either oblique or direct, to Cranky Kitty. 'CK', as I'll refer to her in this posting, is a fact of life for my SO and I. We didn't choose to have her live with us, ten or so years ago, but live with us she does and the three of us have forged a somewhat tenuous co-existence treaty. We get along just fine.....as long as we follow CK's rules.
CK would definitely qualify as a geriatric feline. This spring she will see her seventeenth birthday. She doesn't jump much any more (which suits me just fine) and she takes the stairs very slowly, her limp decidedly getting in the way of accelerated scurrying, although when the doorbell rings and a stranger steps inside the condo, she can move rapidly, like a hovercraft, to a CK-designated place of safety.
Even cranky kitties have to be prepared for company and special occasions and this is where CK and I struggle in our relationship. In CK's world, nothing happens that she does not allow nor approve of. In my world........well, let's put it this way.......CK has to be groomed, regardless of whether she likes it or not. Thusly, CK and I had our little 'come-to-Jesus' session earlier this morning.
Because grooming CK is a truly unpleasant, unnerving, unsettling, and, at times, downright dangerous task, I tend to procrastinate this most evil of deeds......in her eyes. The minute I close the laundry-room door, she is on high alert. Her alert level rises yet another notch when I open the cabinet door above the washing machine and bring out the 'tool of mat destruction', which is nothing more than the 'comb from he***. I have to position her on a rug so her back claws, which work just fine, can dig in to the rug and help hold her in place. My left hand must hold her neck at all times, because to not control her neck means her head is free to whip around and bite my right hand, which is her nemesis in this process. Even with neck-control on a geriatric cat, her muscles possess other-worldly strength and she will attempt to bite me numerous times as she and I struggle for domination. Her tail twitches wildly and she often emits her best guttural growl in an attempt to let me know she is not pleased. (Oh, what an understatement!)
CK is now groomed, as best I could manage. She must be five pounds lighter after removing so much of the dense undercoat that her long-haired heritage has bequeathed upon her. I must have lost five pounds, too, from the aerobic exercise that is provided when wrestling with her. The shame is, though, that in two days she'll never look like I combed her at all and my procrastination gene will kick in, once again.
She knows this. I can see her smiling.
Ancora imparo
