It Takes a Champion

My dad called yesterday to remind me that it's time for my Annual Summer Job:


Two-toes, he said, has been yakking up hairballs left and right this week. Now, Two-toes is a mean old gal; she hates everybody except my dad. My dad refuses to do anything which might make Two-toes hate him too, so that means that he mostly just feeds her and gets everybody else to do the unpleasant things, like take her to the vet or give her medicine or chase her down because she is tracking cat litter all over the house.

For the past few years, it has fallen to me to take care of the summer grooming. This involves the following:

One (1) large jacuzzi tub
One (1) can of gourmet cat food
Two (2) large bath towels
Two (2) pairs of clothes
One (1) electric razor-thing that is like, twenty years old
One (1) 30-year-old woman who still allows her parents to guilt her into doing stuff
One (1) small but wiry, mean and mighty, ticked-off long-haired cat

This is not a task to be undertaken lightly. There will be hissing, screaming, squirming, cussing ... and that's all before the cat even gets in the tub.

And then, when it's all done, the cat--and I swear this is true--goes and TATTLES on me, all, "Mei Flower was mean to me!" And my dad is TOTALLY ON HER SIDE.

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