Wendy is angry with me today, because I cleaned her ears. Some cats aren’t so good at cleaning their own ears, so you have to do it for them. It’s a harrowing process involving Q-tips and olive oil, which I won’t get into here for fear of compromising the elegance of this blog. The difficulty arises from the fact that Wendy doesn’t know that I’m trying to help her. She doesn’t know that cleaning her ears prevents all kinds of hideous infections requiring expensive medicated drops, drops which she would detest perhaps even more than the turmoil of ear cleaning. Her poor furry body tenses up and her ears go backwards and her pupils enlarge and she tries very desperately to escape. I offer her treats and whatnot, but she is unreceptive. Then when I am finished, she doesn’t talk to me for days. I wonder what she thinks I am trying to do. Like does she think I’m cleaning her ears for my own pleasure? Probably if somebody came at me and rooted an oiled Q-tip around in my ear with an explanation in some language I didn’t understand, I would grow frightened and avoid talking to them as well.
She likes getting her nails cut, though. She sits still and holds out her paws as though I am her manicurist. Cats appreciate having short nails, I think, because then they don’t keep getting stuck on bedspreads and sofas and rugs. I push on the center of her paw and her claws extend and I trim them very neatly as she purrs. There is something very pleasing about a cat who lets you hold her hand.
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