Mosher'sUnimaginativelyEntitledBlog

Sorry I didn’t get back last night. There was far too much on the TV and half midnight by the time I finished being goggle-eyed. Teachers, some forensics thing on CH5 and then Boomtown, which seems to still be good but has changed the way it “works”. Hmm.

Anyway. Cat. Scissors. Scary.

I let Kim do the cutting while I held KitKat down. This proved to be much harder than I expected it to be. She really doesn’t like people messing with her back end (KitKat, not Kim, though Kim might. I don’t know about that).

Grabbing her scruff, no problem. Keeping her still initially, no problem. Only when she’s flat on the sofa there’s no way to get at the hair round her back end so we had to dangle her over the edge of the sofa. This is OK, apart from the natural reaction when you “scruff” a cat and lift it up… the tail tucks up and runs up their belly. So when I put her down, the tail’s tucked between her legs – exactly where we don’t want it.

So, I’ve got a cat’s scruff, I’m forcing her shoulders onto the couch, trying to pull her tail out from underneath her. This bit, at least, is just awkward. Then the scissors come into the equation.

She’s fine until the end of each *snip*. At the point when the scissor blades come together she starts to struggle. The tail flicks, the back legs start to kick and she had a bloody good go at squirming out from under my hand.

No real danger to either of her two amateur barbers, but it’s hard to trim hair when there are paws and tail flying close to the scissors. Someone suggested using a towel, but she seems to have some kind of phobia. If she so much as sees a towel, she’s off and hissing. I’m guessing this has been tried in the past with little success. And much bloodletting.

Anyway, we managed to get some hair off, but not a whole lot. Frankly, I’d rather knock her out and shave it but that would only lead to far too many disgusting jokes from you lot so I won’t bother.

She did seem OK once we let her go, though, which surprised me. She even stretched out next to me and snuggled while I was watching Boomtown. So I’m either forgiven or being lulled into a false sense of security.

Cat. Female. It’ll be the latter. I await **** in my bed.

Tonight is going to be fun. I have a task to undergo. It’s a quest I’ve set myself and injury may result. Death, possibly, but it would be a slow one by poisoning or blood loss through many small cuts.

You see, the problem is this: KitKat has taken to going out in the evening for her late-night ablutions. This is a good thing in that it means she’s less likely to use her litter tray (and in the process cover the bathroom floor with grit when she “digs”). Conversely, it has its downfalls in that she inevitably returns with “clunkers”.

This is a Kim word. My scatty housemate has coined this term as an alternative to “winnets” or “tagnuts“. Look them up, be disgusted but hey – she’s a cat with long hair. These things happen. Mind you, these lumps are half the size of my thumb in some cases, so something must be done.

Hence tonight’s task. With Kim’s aid (not that I’ve asked her yet), I aim to pin KitKat down (using the neck scruff / rag doll technique) and clip the hair around her rusty sheriff’s badge.

If I can still type with two fingers, I’ll report once things are done. I don’t know who’s looking forward to this the least.

Resting against the side, it stared at me. Daring me to go near it. A look of pure evil and a glint as it reflected the strong overhead bulb made me back off suddenly in fear and revulsion.

How was I to deal with this perilious situation in which I found myself? No weapons were within reach and to use my bare hands just wasn’t a thought worth contemplating – a horrendous fate would surely result.

Instead, I let it lie there… taunting me. It polluted its immediate environment, the stench starting to reach my nostrils. I could see patterns in the water as it leaked outwards, spreading its foulness.

I could take it no more. I reached out. And with a desperate move… I flushed.

Someone should really do something about the plumbing in this place. Far too often, I find floaters left lying in wait for me.

I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. Eyes left, my faithful followers, and peruse the new addition – polls. Yes, you too can now have more feedback on here. Answer many silly questions that I’ll post as and when and then I’ll ridicule you all for not agreeing with me.

I stuck with Bravenet because I’m used to them, but this does mean you have to go to another page for the polls. On the other hand, I can have up to 10 questions at once without them streaming down the left hand edge and requiring much messing with the template every time I update.

As it stands, I’ll mention on a post if there’s a new poll. When I close one, I’ll post the results here (like you’ll care by then), and you can see the current poll(s) listed on the left to see if it’s worth your while popping to the poll page.

Bravenet restricts you to one response per IP address per day. Try not to feck the results, because I’ll only “adjust” them in a George W Bush stylee before publishing them if I don’t like the way it’s gone.

For our first poll – root beer. Is it the bee’s knees, or the horse’s knackers? You decide!

The first subtle signs were a week or two ago. Some vague muzak in the background in a KFC or Woolies or somewhere. But now it’s everywhere.

I was sat having breakfast in McDs on the M1 yesterday (yes, I ate a McD’s breakfast. I’m an unhealthy bastard. Sue me) and all I could hear was “Dashing through the snow… dum dum dum dum dee” and so forth.

Affronted by this, I finished my bacon butty (I didn’t want it to go cold), climbed onto my seat and rooted through the fake foliage until I found the hidden speaker. Removing my shoe, I battered the speaker until the support brcket gave way and I ripped it off the wall, wires dangling and sparking.

Pulling a knife from my pocket, I popped the cover of the speaker off and places it face up on the seat. I then dropped my trousers and squeezed a huge turd onto it in full view of the staff.

Popping the cover back on, I climbed back up and tied the wires back together, leaving it dangling in space, **** oozing through the speaker grille.

I dropped my muffin into my bag, picked up my stuff and went back to the car (via the loo to wash my hands – I’m not a scruff).

Well. OK. I didn’t do all that. But I did get a bit miffed and think about doing it. May I please get the first “bah humbug” of the year in now.