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Brush wars

In some ways I really like this time of year. It’s getting warmer, it’s lighter in the evenings and there are more opportunities to be out and about than in the winter. But what I don’t like is my hair all falling out!

I’m obviously a super good looking smart cat all year round but in the winter I am particularly smart. I develop a really impressive furry ruff around my neck – I look seriously distinguished I can tell you. But come the spring I start moulting and it starts to look a bit … well … scruffy.

Just been prodding at my ruff with a paw and there are definitely a few lumpy bits forming where my hair is falling out. Now it’s bad enough that my hair falls out but even worse is the thought that shortly the humans will decide that I need to be BRUSHED!

Brushing me is a form of urban warfare, let me tell you I don’t give up without a heck of a fight. The humans have this mad theory that if they had spent more time brushing me when I was a kitten I would be more reasonable about it now. Wrong! I don’t like being brushed – not at all, don’t like it, won’t have it. No. End of.

I’ll stop them. I’ve found the cat brush and hidden it. Oscar 1 v 0 Humans

Some weeks later

They’ve let me get away without being brushed for the past few weeks, they’ve been busy ‘doing stuff’ and have just been picking up the lumps of fur that are all over the place and muttering ‘that cat needs a good brush’ without actually doing anything about it. I must say I am leaving lots of hair all over the place – it’s quite impressive in a way. I saw someone on the television the other day who was knitting her cat’s hair into scarves and stuff – perhaps someone could knit a winter blanket for me?

Anyway I digress.

Yesterday in one of my attempts to win over a human to open me a tin of cat food I decided to jump on the female tin-opening operative whilst she was wearing a very smart, glittery evening outfit. Think they call them rhinestone thingies. Oh dear – such a fuss! Apparently I left a layer of ginger and white hair all over the fancy bits and the mad humans had to use half a roll of sticky tape to get the fur off. It was very funny, well I thought so anyway, they seemed to have a sense of humour failure over the whole episode and left for the evening muttering ‘that’s it – he is being brushed if he wants it or not’.

Fighting talk – they don’t fool me. I’ll keep a low profile for a few days and they will forget about it.

Elephants and humans never forget. They got me!

I was minding my own business when there was a rattle of my biscuit box in the kitchen. I raced in from the garden thinking ‘great – they forgot they fed me an hour ago’. As I hurtled up to my food dish they pounced, the dreaded brush appeared and World War III broke out.

Result of the hostilities?

One brushed Oscar.
Two scratched humans.
Three broken saucers – I escaped at one point, bomb dived the table and catapulted a selection of china onto the floor. They were lucky it was only three saucers really.

I still think it was a moral victory for me. I’m telling myself that anyway.

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