The cat.

(shakes head.)

For fear of boring you with talk of my cat, and then more talk of my cat, let’s just get right to it. Um, kay?

Our cat is furry. And refuses to let us comb him. He hates the groomers. And they hate him. We decided a while ago that we just needed to shave him. Unfortunately no groomer would attempt it. We called a number of vets to see if any of them would put him under and shave him.

Last week we found one that would do it.

For a small-ish fee. Who cares what they charge us. The damn cat needed to be shaved. Here he is the night before the procedure.

The amount of fur is alarming. There is a lot of it. And a lot of knots in that fur.

Here is Preston after the procedure.

So luxurious. And funny looking. And maybe a little pissed at us.

(Guess what? Even if he looks funny, it feels so yummy to pet his fur. I think we may have to keep this look up. Hopefully next time we won’t have to pay so much to get it done.)

You know how when your hair is just buggin you and you hate the way you styled it and you just feel not-right all day?

And you know how when you wear the wrong slacks and how you don’t feel like leaving your cubicle until the day is over (or you need to get your lunch) (or you have to take a potty break)?

And you know how when you get something stuck in your eye and there is no peace until you get the damn thing out?

Right, welcome to my day.

The hair and the slacks I can blame on myself. But the eye issues I have to blame on the cat. Yes, it’s Preston’s fault that there is something in my eye.

For I’m pretty sure it’s some of his damn fur.

What in the crap where we thinking when we bought such a furry orange kitty almost 7 years ago? I’ll tell you what we were thinking. We were thinking how adorable he was.

I would never have looked at that little kitten and thought he would grow up to produce so much fur. Fur, that for some reason, refuses to stay attached to his body. Fur, that for some reason, loves to attach itself to my black slacks.

Or get stuck in my eye.

I get frustrated with Preston a lot. Mostly it’s because of the fur issues. Our apartment and everything we own is covered with a thinly glazed haze of orange. It’s not his fault he sheds like a maniac. But it is his fault that he won’t let us comb him, or even take him to the groomer to be combed.

I try to remember the good ole days.

And let’s be honest, Preston probably tries to remember the good ole days also. Days where we would order him his own burrito with green sauce (oh he loves the green sauce).

Yes, gone are those days. Instead of sitting with us at the table and eating like a normal family, we just let the baby eat right out of Preston’s bowl.

On the plus side, I hear the crunchy kibble is good for teething.

It’s hard work to be a responsible pet owner. Especially when it’s time for your pet to go to the groomers, a groomer who blacklisted him around town.

Yes, our cat was blacklisted.

Our furry, orange Persian cat. Who’s a little bit mean and won’t let us comb him. Oh, he’ll let us bathe him. He likes the water. But don’t even try to comb him out after the bath. Because he will cut you.

Today was “spa day” for little Preston. We like to try aversion therapy with him by calling it something other than what it really is. That doesn’t really work, but we keep trying. It was The King’s turn to take him in today. Since The King has more of a tender heart then I do, I’m the one that has to actually stuff Preston into his cat carrier. There is usually a plan to this. The King gets the carrier while I find Preston and talk to him in my inside voice, so as to keep him calm. This morning there was a slip up in our usual plan.

The King got the carrier out of hiding before I was able to pick up Preston. He automatically booked it under the bed. That’s when The King told me I’d have to pull him out from under, because he just “couldn’t do it”. Yeah well at this late in the game, I physically can’t. Nope. There will be no bending down and reaching under the bed for this pregnant lady.

Preston was retrieved by The King and handed off to me. He had his claws out and really didn’t want me to hold him. No matter how lovely of a tone I used when I spoke to him. And you can forget about going into the carrier nicely. No, I had to stuff the poor guy in it. Once I got him stuffed into it, he pushed his squished Persian face up against the front of the carrier and looked at me with his huge cat eyes. And I cried. Me. The one with the cold heart.

I told them they had to just leave. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I closed the door behind them and went back to eating my breakfast. Trying not to think about how I’m going to have to take my baby in for shots in a few months. That’s when I heard a faint knock on the door.

It was The King. He’d forgotten his bag for work. He left Preston in the hall and ran inside to get it. Which I’m sure freaked Preston out even more. You can’t just leave him in the hall (but you really can’t bring him back in either. That would just confuse the poor guy.).

I sent them on their way, again, and started getting ready for work. I called The King once I got to work to make sure Preston had survived. He said he did fine. Except for the heavy breathing. (See, our cat doesn’t purr, or make noises. He just breaths heavy and snores. It’s very odd.)

We haven’t heard from the groomer yet today. That’s a good sign. It means they were able to do their work. Phew. Because the cat, he needed his belly shaved in the worse way. Now just a few more hours before he’s home again.

Poor guy. It’s hard to be him.

I “worked from home” yesterday so that I could take Preston to the groomers. He was black listed after a previous “incident”. The King was able to get him back in their good graces. We still felt like one of us should stick around in case something happened. I am happy to report that nothing happened (except that he totally let them comb out all of his mats and bathe him). He looks like a whole new kitty. We figure he lost about 3 pounds in fur. Seriously he looks great. This was about the only picture I could get of him last night. He loves to sit on the toilet seat and watch me get ready. But he won’t do it for The King.

We finally found the camera last night. Living out of boxes is getting pretty old. We just need to find places to put everything. Going from a 3 bedroom/3 bathroom house to a 1 bedroom/1 bathroom apartment is hard, people.

So here is my belly, as of last night. Of course the belly grows in the evening and shrinks back in the morning. I am not sure why. Maybe it has to do with the tides. Or something.

Today is the big ultrasound. The King and I discussed finding out the gender (again) last night. He decided that we can find out, but he really doesn’t want to tell anyone. He just wants this whole pregnancy to be very private. I figure that when my Mom calls me tonight to find out, I’ll just have to tell her that they couldn’t tell. I don’t think she’ll buy that excuse, but she’s smart enough not to prod me into telling her.