Sneakers and Jasper got their annual haircuts yesterday. Here is the photographic proof that they survived and thrived.
Both of these cats are sixteen going on seventeen, which means they’re no spring chickens. Still, they managed the stress of this pretty well. We got them loaded into the Pacifica without too much trouble. Jasper stuck to the floorboard, sounding out his protest as we drove out of town. Sneakers huffed and acted worried. Both of them settled down. The dog however, thought it wise to take a sympathy shit in the rear deck in solidarity with his cat brethren.
Carrying Sneakers into the groomer was a snap. He’s a big ball of flubber and easily managed. Jasper still retains some of that NFL defensive end musculature and is harder to wrestle. But we got them inside cages and took off. When we came back two hours later both were shaved and bathed, stuck in a cage together. Jasper was glaring into space and when I bent down and said his name he turned and brayed at me like a mountain lion. I hustled him out to the car while his front claws shredded my biceps. Sneakers had to be dragged out of the cage and once he figured out it was me that was picking him up grabbed me in a bear hug. When they got home they stomped around the house like they were Captains of Industry. After that they napped.
Jasper hung around us most of the evening and Sneakers spent the night in our bed, rumbling purrs up by the pillows. I think both of them feel pretty good. No more nasty mats pulling at their skin, dandruff all gone, and they probably both lost a pound of hair. They’re camped out on the man cave bed, enjoying each other’s company. The only problem I see is the shampoo the groomer used is scented. Where the hell do you get pet shampoo scented like the air freshener in a gas station rest room?