My cat is a prima donna. She doesn't go outside, she drinks only bottled water, receives treats daily "just because" and has regular haircuts. Her fur is a massive coat thicker than a wooly mammoth's. When her fur gets especially long and unruly she gets these nasty little dingleberries around her b-hole and Horrible Armpit Knots. Now, it should be known that during her first year of life, I regularly took her to the cat groomer and they would shave what they call "The Potty Path," cropping the fur around her derriere, thus causing the dingleberries to vanish. They would also comb and cut out her Horrible Armpit Knots, and put a pink feathery bow on the top of her head. It was wonderful, but it's pricey.
Two summers ago I lived in this giant old house that literally cost 134 thousand dollars to keep cool. So Chanel and I did our best to stick it out....until one day it was about 99 degrees out which meant our house was about 104. Chanel's tongue was hanging out of her mouth, she was panting, and she rabidly gnashed her teeth at me. I seriously had The Old Yeller Scene Where The Boy Has To Shoot His Dog flash through my mind. I knew something was very wrong and I thought it was rabies or mad cow disease or something so I FREAKED OUT and grabbed her sweating body and took her for a drive in the car with the AC blasting. When this didn't help, I rushed her to the Pet Emergency Clinic.................$500 later, I was told by the vet that my cat got heat stroke. HEAT STROKE. Which is total BS because cats are descendants of tigers and lions and they live in Africa where it's 300 times hotter. So I took her snobby ass to the expensive groomer and 70 dollars later:
That is what she came home looking like. She was shaking and embarrassed and mad at me. But I didn't feel bad because she is a descendant of big feral cats living in the wild—she is a feline, she should act like one. Plus I liked her mini Ugg boots.
When her fur finally grew back, I made it a point to keep her impeccably groomed on my own I mean, it's absurd that her haircuts were more expensive than mine. I started brushing her daily and making sure I lived in a place where I could afford the AC bill. Well, I have to admit that since we got a dog, I have been a little careless about Chanel’s daily brushing, and today when I picked her up, I felt a BIG HORRIBLE ARMPIT KNOT. Since I refuse to take her to the overpriced groomer, I decided to take care of it myself.
So I got her brush and attempted to comb out the knot. She screamed at me. SCREAMED. And swished her tail impatiently and menacingly. I started to use the kitchen scissors in an attempt to cut the knot. She growled and hissed at me, followed by an unpleasant bite across my knuckles, drawing blood. I sort of roughly shoved her, huffed and shouted expletives at the top of my lungs and took off my slippers—I meant business—then grabbed her again, this time by the scruff of her neck. By this point I am all sweaty and annoyed and angry, and losing patience with this wretched creature. I stared down deep into her harrowing amber eyes, snatched the scissors and cut out the Horrible Armpit Knot. When I was finished, I released the beast to sprint under the couch and plan my demise.
I said I was sorry but she still kicked like half her litter out of her box and she hasn't even looked at me all day. She has kind of an awkward bald-ish spot under her right armpit....but hey.....the haircut was FREE.