There are two cats that live in this house. A tiny round cat named Cricket and a large gigantic cat named the Captain. They seem to never stop shedding!
The house I live in has hardwood floors. Now, there are pros and cons to every situation, it seems. Hardwood flooring is attractive to my eyes, but seems to need sweeping very frequently. Carpet is softer and warmer on the feet, but you realize that all of the filth you see so plainly on the hardwood must just be gathering beneath the surface of the carpet and oh god that’s really icky.
So, it’s sort of okay to have to vacuum and sweep every other day like some OCD nightmare. At least you know that you aren’t stirring up filth every time you take a step.
The lone exception to this rule seems to be cat fur. No matter how often and how thoroughly I sweep, I am bombarded by cat hair tumbleweeds. Sometimes I form them into tiny cat shapes and pretend to pet them, telling the cats that I love the new cats better than I love them. I am not sure why I shared that part with you, as it is not exactly pertinent information.
So the other day, I was having to mess around with cords and wires under my desk, when I happened to innocently take a breath. In so doing, I managed to inhale a cat tumbleweed. At first I thought I accidentally breathed in my own hair, still attached to my head. This happens sometimes I guess when you have hair that is long enough? This is what my mind was trying to believe as I sputtered. However, no hair came out.
Soon, it became all too apparent that this was not ordinary hair – it was FELINE hair! I detected brown tabby markings on the wet clump that I madly CLAWED FROM OUT OF MY THROAT. And I could tell that I did not get it all out. Oh god. That’s right, in my desperate attempt to rid myself of this horror, I actually jammed my hand as far down my own throat as I could and tried to scrape everything out.
Of course I threw up.
Somehow, and I don’t even KNOW how, I had magically whisked myself away to the bathroom as soon as I realized that Whatever It Was was NOT coming out on its own, so I at least did not make a horrible mess. As I hacked and coughed and heaved every little strand of fur from out of my esophagus, I realized that I was having a hairball. Just like a damned cat.
I was weak for the entire rest of the day, puny and sad. Now I notice every time the cats walk by, little fur hairs waft in the breezes they make. There are so many little tufts of cat that float by every minute of every day, threatening to infiltrate my lungs or my stomach. Why won’t they stop shedding? Why must I live like this? Do the cats hate me? They must.
Amanda lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, and is a complete hermit in many respects, so if you find her out-of-doors, consider yourself lucky, Bucko!
Contact her: email@example.com
or maybe AIM: octocakes