What with all the travel, we fell behind in brushing our mostly-Maine-coon cat Amber this spring. The knots wouldn’t come out any more with a brush, and Amber won’t sit still for a scissors. So the only thing left to do was to take him for professional grooming. And so, day before yesterday, poor unhappy Amber was transported to our nearby local “Pet Resort and Spa” for a lion cut.
Well, I did tell them to use the unscented shampoo. Really.
But whether it’s his new ‘do or his fresh, clean smell, Gwenny doesn’t recognize Amber any more. Gwenny is a Russian Blue less than half Amber’s size. “Who let this alien creature into the house?” she growls. “Get him out! Go away! Back to wherever he came from! This is *my* territory! Mine!”
She won’t let him in the same room with her. When the yowling gets too intolerable, I have to separate them.
Amber seems to find this confusing. He’s learned over the last thirteen years not to be afraid of Gwenny, and it’s probably been almost a decade since she acted this hostile. “Who, me?” he wonders. “Wazzup with this?”