FUZZ CUT

The other night I decided to take the scissors to Fluffy's right hip area to cut out some small tangles in her fur because I am obsessive about her being knot-free. When I rescued her from the clutches of Pet Smart five years ago, she was one giant hairball and it took hours to get the problem resolved. Since I recently purchased a fancy set of clippers especially made for trimming hair, Fluffy scheduled an appointment with me and I got to work.

I should have known better. I once butchered Big Bore's hair so badly that he had to make an emergency run to a beauty shop for a mercy repair job. What made me think I could do any better with a cat?

Needless to say, I did a lousy job trimming on Fluffy. By the time I was done, she looked like a chain saw had gotten hold of her.

"What happened to Fluffy?" Big Bore asked, surveying the damage I'd done. "She looks lop-sided."

So, what did I do to remedy the situation? Well, when she later fell asleep, I went over to her exposed left hip--the one without hairballs, and snip, snip, snip, gave her the same lousy cut on the other side. At least there is now a touch of symmetry to my madness. I also did some trimming of her hairy chest, which didn't turn out half bad. Wads of fur no longer stick to her tongue when she's grooming.

Big Bore thinks we should take Fluffy to the vet clinic, ask for a buzz job, and just start over--but if we do that, then she won't be fluffy anymore, and I don't want to be responsible for spinning her into an identity crisis. The moral of this story is: Next time she's all tangled up, Fluffy is cutting her own hair.