Buttered paws

Pepper doesn’t go outside. Mainly because we live on a semi-busy street full of student apartments and I just don’t trust 19 year old boys. Plus there was this whole issue about how she would get back into the house since we don’t have a garden or a cat flap. And no matter what anyone says, I am not buttering my cats feet.

Due to this indoor lifestyle her claws get super long. Like so long that when tries to use her scratching post she just gets stuck. So, cat claw trimming. Super. But, this is still a two person process. Enter Rob.

Rob will still not pick Pepper up. He will do all he can to get her out of his seat without actually touching her. If she has gotten herself stuck up on the mantelpiece he makes me come get her. I would say he is scared of her. He would say he has a healthy respect for her personal space. So, in the claw trimming process he has two options. 1) hold the squirming cat. 2) trim the cats nails. Care to guess what he chose?

Ten minutes and nine claws later we gave up. Me covered in fur and Rob convinced we’d somehow damaged the cat. I spent the entire time he was trimming trying to keep him calm as well as her. No, we didn’t hurt her. But what cat likes having her claws trimmed. She was just pissed and wanted none of it. So we gave up after nine. Just for her to turn around, crawl up onto my lap and start purring.

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