My secret weapon

I really don’t understand these simians. You cuddle up with them, undergo the many pettings and scritches that are your just due, you settle in for a nice and quiet session of purrfect bliss… The Mistress’ nimble small appendages start gently massaging your neck… and then she calls over Grumpy Man and he starts plucking at your fur !!!

Now, I know all about grooming. I can confidently state that I’m kind of an expert in this department. After all, I’m 3 years already. Given the fact that it’s not as if I am under-endowed in the fur-department – me being a proud specimen of the Maine Coon persuasion and all – and despite a few burn spots that are healing nicely thankyouohsoverymuchfornotasking, I do cut a dashing figure if I may say so. My raspy tongue has been put to good use ever since Mama Katischka taught me how to do so, even if I hadn’t been that good a student in my younger days so The Mistress had to maim my beautiful bushy-tail and luscious belly-fur by cutting out matted tufts, but I do know how to deal with loose hair and frankly, when you got strange squiggly lumps that won’t budge, well, that’s exactly what claws were invented for. But simians have their uses.

It’s just that their appendages are blunt and lack the finesse and precision of a well-honed claw-tip. So, picture the scene: there’s poor little me, having a few (A few ??? He had 15 of ’em !!! /The Mistress) little lumps around my neck and throat -did I mention that that horrible chafing collar has maimed my glorious mane ?- and she just freaked out and made Grumpy Man hurt me. Whatever he plucked from my poor hurting neck -along with most of my pelt for sure- was thrown into the almost always empty huge water bowl and then they dumped lots of water on it. “Tick-Magnet” they call me now. Harumpf ! Besides, I can’t count. I’m a cat, I don’t need to.

And hence The Mistress has developed this unwanted and uncalled-for new habit of picking up my august being, dumping me on a handy surface high enough so she wouldn’t need to bend over, and searching me all over. I mean, the humiliation ! Not a single private spot is sacred ! She’s crazy ! And when she does find something, despite my furious protests and vigourous wiggling, she calls over her lumbering henchman and makes him pluck at me again. I tell you, it’s that they provide me with edible grub and adequate scritches or this House of Chaos would have seen the last of my majestic backside long ago. But… I would miss the jumpy toy. And the catnip banana. And the Red Dot. And the radiator which inlet/outlet is so conveniently spaced just so, right above the floor, that an enterprising and warmth-loving kitty just needs to wrap himself around it and… oh, well, you get the drift.

But now I have had an epif… epipfy… revelation.

The last time The Mistress picked me up and dumped me on the small fridge I accidently let go of some air. Little did I know that simians, usually enormously underdeveloped in the olifactory department, are actually quite sensitive to one specific type of smell. The type that -aha !- comes out of your backside. I do admit that this time it did have a rather unique bouquet: maybe a bit heavy on the sulfur, but nicely complex and satisfyingly dense molecule-wise. In any case The Mistress’ reaction was priceless, I still treasure it in the deep folds of my heart, just makes me warm and tingly all over and such whenever I think of it: she immediately let go of me so I jumped away and from a safe distance comfortabely observed at leisure her gagging and sputtering and startled exclamations. What a great secret weapon a well-placed fart makes.

Yours truly,
Chateau Beau of Purrpuss, Malodourous Magnificence

Picture below: my selfie. You like ?

I suppose I should mention my buddies over at The Friday Ark. They’re all right. Go say hello for me.

Gruesome grooming facts

Loup-Garou is slowly discovering one of the major drawbacks of growing old for a kitty: he’s having more and more difficulty grooming himself. For a cat, this is disaster ! From his earliest days, when Momma Cat spent hours and hours grooming her tiny tykes to immaculate perfection whilst they were doing anything they could to become immaculate, then during his prime, when he would wash and scratch and shake himself into a masterpiece of feline sartorial splendour, he has now entered his waning years and finds himself stymied by his ageing bones and shrinking tendons. And so his once lustrous and glorious pelt has become more dishevelled by the day, losing the usual glimmer and costing him his glamour. With ugly tufts of hair sticking out at random and quickly threatening to felt up he’s not a happy kitty.

Enter The Brush.

Despite his initial misgivings, that this strange contraption wielded by The Mistress would actually harm his most prized looks, our black-and-slightly-white feline companion didn’t waste much time in starting to fall in love with The Brush. The first strokes were… well… tolerated. Then, sensuous pleasure jumped in.
You should understand that a cat is a most sensitive animal, with oodles and oodles of nerve-endings scattered generously all over his body. And likewise that the act of grooming which was first begun by his dam and spoke of comfort, warmth, a loving home, will during the rest of his life ever remain the most effective way of calming himself down and at the same time allowing him to just luxuriate in the sheer pleasure of rasping tongue over soon-to-be clean pelt.
The stiff hairs of The Brush have the same effect. Loup-Garou was initially intending to undulate his way around me for treats, as usual, but soon learned that just standing still would allow The Mistress to reach all of the difficult spots and relieve the pressures of all this down and hairs which had started to clot together.

When a cat can’t groom his pelt it becomes a serious problem. For one thing, the down under the upper layer of hair can entangle. Strands of hair that have for some reason become loose can add to these entanglements. As this process goes on in the end the poor animal is covered with ugly threads of matted fibres and this is called “felt”. There are some breeds of dogs where this is actually a desired feature as the matted fur is quite waterproof and insulating which for a working dog in some climates can be a great boon. There are even some simians who regard it as a certain statement in human grooming or even don this kind of fur-feature because of religious feelings. Go figure.
But for the average domesticated feline it’s plain bad for their health and for the feral feline even a death sentence.

Because the entanglements also contain hair that is still firmly stuck to the skin this can cause a constant tugging feeling which can be rather unpleasant. All kinds of parasites will find these matted regions nice and comfortable because the tongue and claws of the kitty can’t reach the deepest spots there. Likewise a seemingly innocuous irritation or scratch can cause infection. Add a generous sprinkling of dirt, moisture, all kinds of organic matter like twigs and decaying leaves, and couple this with the poor animal’s natural body heat and you have the prefect breeding ground for bacteria and parasites. In the end our poor feline friend may harbour all kinds of nasty health-threatening conditions under all that felted fur and succumb to the effects.

Luckily Loup-Garou has The Mistress and The Brush to help avoid this grisly fate. And now that he has grown to know and love The Brush grooming him has become a real pleasure indeed ! You can see the expression on his little furry face just starting at joy, going from sensuous pleasure to sheer bliss, and then soaring straight into all-out Nirvana. The unseemly tufts slowly disappear and once again his shiny pelt is a sight to behold and adore. There reclines a distinguished ageing gentleman, and don’t you know it !

Picture below:
Loup-Garou in Halloween mode. He just loves the attention…
You can clearly see the tufts on his hindquarters. He’s in need of The Brush again !!

PS. We must however impart some very sad news… since the latest posting our gorgeous sweet little Gorgor has disappeared and never been seen again. As some other lovely cats have disappeared in the neighbourhood around the same period I fear he has been taken by strangers for some reason. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. We miss you, Gorgor !!