ZOMG, the floof

Mr. Man came up for a cuddle, and left me with a clump of hair. So out comes the kitty brush.

We bought a new one last year, more like a rubber curry comb (which isn’t actually a comb at all, more like a hand-brush, oddly enough) thing that didn’t work at all. So I brushed him with the metal brush, took off about a pound and a half of floof, then tried the rubber curry comb one more time.

The trick is, apparently, short, frequent strokes, just like with a horse. If he lost a pound and a half of floof the first time around, he lost seven pounds with the rubber brush. It came off as this grey blanket from his tabby coat. Then I wiped him down with a wet papertowel and took off the same amount again.

I’m surprised I didn’t turn him into a sphinx cat. But no, he’ll still there, still furry, but minus his winter parka, all in one fell swoop.

It’s going to be hair ball central around here for the next couple days, poor thing. For both of them.

Also, I wrote 1000 words of the newly retooled misbegotten and it feels weird to write something where the goal is not to get two people in bed by the end of the scene. Whoa, man. I just…whoa.

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