Have you tried combing her hindquarters?
The nurse in the veterinary practice asked me with a frown.
Ummm...
I looked at her with a confused air as if she had asked me to play billiards, Spanish style.
She nodded keenly at me then jerked her head at my cat, Shady who was sitting on my lap calmly as is she wasn't normally a hissing ball of rage and claws.
I looked at her and then the cat in bewilderment.
Um, she has all this matted stuff on her fur around her tail?
I ventured, thinking that perhaps this lady of the green uniform and whiff of Eau de Chat might have misunderstood the reason for my visit.
Yes, I get that.
She took Shady from me and stood her on the examining table.
Shady was remarkably docile. I watched her carefully, in these kinds of situations she was liable to turn into a furry T-Rex of horror and somehow it was often me that got savaged the worst.
Maybe she still harboured a grudge about that time I dressed her up as a St Trinians Schoolgirl and posted her photo on Twitter?
Do you have a comb?
The Vet Nurse asked whilst fingering my pussy on the table.
SORRY! couldn't resist!
I eyed nursey-nurse as if she was an old vinegary smelling loaf.
A comb? Of course, I have a comb, look at my lustrous mane of hair?
I ran a hand through my thick and luscious locks.
Not a comb for you. A comb for your cat...? A cat comb?
She said still prodding and poking my cat, now mostly around the chuff.
Like this?
The lion whispering nurse produced a metal toothed comb and began to vigorously comb my delightful little cat's bottom bush.
The matted bits of fur after an initial struggle began to give way under her stern assault.
I do. I do have such a comb somewhere, I believe.
I nodded slowly.
Well. Have you tried combing her hindquarters?
The nurse asked again, still fiddling with my cat's filthy old exhaust.
I looked blank and shrugged whimsically.
The nurse put her comb down and took a deep breath before sighing it out patiently.
Ok. I will put it another way. Have you tried combing your cat's arse?
She said through ever so slightly gritted teeth.
What?! Eeewww?! Why the fuck would I do that? I love my little cat?!
I flinched back in disgust at the foul mouthery of the nurse.
Nursey McBigbaws shook her head sadly.
Never mind. That's her done. You can pay at the front desk.
She handed me my floppy, docile but very well-combed, cat.
Minutes later I was outside bundling my little angel cat into the boot of the car when my phone rang. It was the Good Lady.
So, Daddy-Bear, did they fix Shady?
She asked hopefully.
Heck, yeah, baby girl. She did suggest we comb her arse though?
The Good Lady made a humphy mouth breathing noise of disgust.
Eeww, the filthy boot.
She muttered in disapproval.
I slammed the car-boot closed on a perfectly arse-combed cat.
Exactly lass, exactly.