My cat and I are not on speaking terms.
I like her just fine (no, really), but she’s adopted an attitude that is rather snooty, even for a cat.
Which suits me just fine, really.
Since I have a decidedly Catholic cat, I’m fairly certain she believes in heaven. And I have a good idea what her vision of heaven is: an electric blanket, a never ending food supply, and my disembodied hips and hair. The hip would be as if I were lying on my side; the hair would be fanned across the bed, allowing her to tapdance, jigaboo, and waltz through it as if she were high on cat nip. And she would drool in it. Copiously.
In her vision of heaven, neither I nor my my hands would be there. I couldn’t hiss at her, and I couldn’t push her off my hair.
With my haircut, I lost a lot of hair. I watched it on the floor and was somewhat horrified. Did I really have that much hair? Did it really look so nappy? The indulgent stylist, with her Manic-Panic streak and her nose ring, smiled and nodded.
I really was horrified when I realized that I could have been her mother. A very, very young mother, granted, but in that “old-enough-to-bleed, old-enough-to-breed” sort of way, I could have been her mother.
That was a very sobering thought for me.
Regardless, I was only semi-horrified at my hair. It was about an inch above the curve of my ass. Way too long for someone who doesn’t bother with hair very often in any way that doesn’t deal with hairbands, scrunchies, or pony tails. And now it’s about an inch lower than my shoulders.
I wanted to go shorter. I was disappointed when the wee stylist wouldn’t go shorter.
In retrospect, I don’t think I could have handled any more change at one time.
So, with my new ‘do, it’s a tease for the Cat. She sees the hair. She smells the hair. But when she goes in for the nuzzle-and-drool, she can’t quite find the hair. So after a very short time (her attention span is the rough equivalent of mine), she pouts, shows me her ass, and saunters off.
Apparently, cutting out dead parts has more benefits than ever imagined.
I should probably do it more often. I just have to be careful; that sounds dangerously close to a possible New Year’s resolution.