Every few weeks, we've had to take the cat to professional groomers, at considerable cost and effort, where it takes three people and a prayer to hold her down to trim her... claws... talons. When we've tried at home, its usually turned into a blood-bath. A record nine groomers have sent regrets that they are no longer able to meet our cat's urgent man-pedi needs as medical insurance wouldn't cover acts of God or feline.
A longtime believer in throwing money at problems, we've chauffeured the cat to different groomers studded around the island of Hong Kong. The first few times, when she was but a kitten, we took her to the groomers in Kennedy Town and Cookie the dog (right - seen here with Linda Markova, who came to help contain the damn cat), came bouncing and wagging along to come play with Billyjean. My wide-eyed kitten had one look at the joyful pupper and instantly met her arch nemesis; she went ape-shit.
She scratched the dog, tried to bite him and growled and snarled her way. If you've never witnessed a hissy-fit, it's quite a sight. As witness to a domesticated kitten morphing into a feral wild cat numbed me into a motionless, petrified waxwork figurine of myself, I've never been more shocked in my life. Mind you, the cat is a fraction of the size of the dog. Linda had to hold the dog up and away from the cat to save him. She comforted the brown fluff all day while, once nudged into motion, I tried to hold the cat back with a restraints and cajoling.
Since then, recognising the scent of Billyjean, every time we went back thereafter, the dog hides under the furniture, trembling.
Billy's mostly unapologetic... about everything in life in general... Our last visit resulted in the owner giving us a full refund and asking us to never come back.
Cats. Not just a bad musical.
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| To quote Edith Piaf , "Non, Je ne regrette rien." I regret nothing. |
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| Also, Go away. |
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