Cat has been playing havoc with our lives, as per bloody usual. I had wanted to make sure I had a good night's sleep after a particularly bad weekend, so was wearing my eyemask on saturday night. Miraculously, it stayed on throughout the night. So on the Sunday morning, Rosemary's kitty is in like clockwork looking to be fed. She's on my chest watching for signs of life. Now I know from experience that she recognises whether or not my eyes are open, but as I say, that particular morning the eyemask was on, and she had no idea. I can only imagine her thinking "Well now, there's only one way to deal with this" and in the style of Wolverine, flicking out all her claws and leaving a couple of satisyfying weals down my face in one swift movement.
"yeah, you're awake now! feed me!"
So that afternoon, Boyfriend and I decide it's time to cut her claws. Since we're both up, she has claimed possession of the bed. I grab her, pin her down and He sets about her with the nail clippers. Believe me, he has the easier job; I have the teeth to contend with!
So we're nearly done. I'm trying to tell that to the cat, but end up seeming more like Kathy Bates teling James Caan she's nearly done hobbling him. Suddenly, bitchcat kicks back as He is about to clip the last claw, and he cuts it a bit too far back.
Ladies and Gentlemen - we have a bleeder! All over the rugs, the new sofas, my uni sweatshirt, the beds. She wouldn't stop licking at it, so it wasnt healing, and you better believe she wasn't letting us anywhere near her. So there we both were, chasing a bleeding cat all over the flat. Only thing missing was the Benny Hill theme.
So the cat's crying and bleeding. Boyfriend's crying. I'm bleeding, and I'm on the phone to the emergency vet line. Finally I grab her (my sweatshirt!) while He straps four (yes four) of those fabric cut-to-size elastoplasts around her paw, having previously dipped it in salt water. She ain't happy, but it stays on, and she seems resigned to the fact that she ain't getting it off.
The following day I had to orcestrate this function for 80 representatives of the council which funds my organistation, looking more like an anaemic victim of a knife attack than ever before. Cat got her plasters cut off that evening, once again finding herself in my arms while something painful happened to her.
Yesterday she came into the living room to sharpen her claws. Normally, after a claw-clipping, we draw some entertainment from watching her paws slip right off like the skin on an overcooked chicken. But not this time; oh no! really going for it, she's resolutely getting those razors back as quickly as she can. And just as the boyfriend and I are discussing this, her head turns (almost the full 180 degrees) and makes direct eye contact with me.
She's coming for me, I know it. I'm alive for now but I may not make it through the night. I'm really quite tired. I'll go put my eyemask on so I get a good night's sleep
"yeah, you're awake now! feed me!"
So that afternoon, Boyfriend and I decide it's time to cut her claws. Since we're both up, she has claimed possession of the bed. I grab her, pin her down and He sets about her with the nail clippers. Believe me, he has the easier job; I have the teeth to contend with!
So we're nearly done. I'm trying to tell that to the cat, but end up seeming more like Kathy Bates teling James Caan she's nearly done hobbling him. Suddenly, bitchcat kicks back as He is about to clip the last claw, and he cuts it a bit too far back.
Ladies and Gentlemen - we have a bleeder! All over the rugs, the new sofas, my uni sweatshirt, the beds. She wouldn't stop licking at it, so it wasnt healing, and you better believe she wasn't letting us anywhere near her. So there we both were, chasing a bleeding cat all over the flat. Only thing missing was the Benny Hill theme.
So the cat's crying and bleeding. Boyfriend's crying. I'm bleeding, and I'm on the phone to the emergency vet line. Finally I grab her (my sweatshirt!) while He straps four (yes four) of those fabric cut-to-size elastoplasts around her paw, having previously dipped it in salt water. She ain't happy, but it stays on, and she seems resigned to the fact that she ain't getting it off.
The following day I had to orcestrate this function for 80 representatives of the council which funds my organistation, looking more like an anaemic victim of a knife attack than ever before. Cat got her plasters cut off that evening, once again finding herself in my arms while something painful happened to her.
Yesterday she came into the living room to sharpen her claws. Normally, after a claw-clipping, we draw some entertainment from watching her paws slip right off like the skin on an overcooked chicken. But not this time; oh no! really going for it, she's resolutely getting those razors back as quickly as she can. And just as the boyfriend and I are discussing this, her head turns (almost the full 180 degrees) and makes direct eye contact with me.
She's coming for me, I know it. I'm alive for now but I may not make it through the night. I'm really quite tired. I'll go put my eyemask on so I get a good night's sleep