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shearing Noah
Friday, June 28 2002Our cat Noah is an especially fluffy creature of some five or six years of age. Beginning over a year ago, he apparently lost the ability to maintain his coat. Throughout the winter last year his fur started to segregate into discrete knots, the things referred to in Jamaica as dreadlocks. Noah was gradually being transformed into a full-body feline rasta. The situation eventually became so bad that Gretchen took him somewhere to have him shaved, and during the summer last year he resembled a lion, complete with a poofy mane and tuft at the tip of his tail.
This year, history seemed to be repeating itself. Before we left for the log cabin, Gretchen attempted to deal with some of the knots on Noah's lower back and left him looking like he'd been hit by a motorboat while swimming.
So today I decided to try my hand at eliminating Noah's dreadlocks, and started shearing him relentlessly, following him around as he did things, cutting off any hair that stuck out. His hair came off in broad swaths, just like it does from a sheep. I left him with somewhat-uneven crew-cut all along his back and sides, though I left him fluffy in all the places that matter: his head, chest, and front legs.Tonight Gretchen and I took Sally on a midnight bike ride one and a half times around the Long Meadow (probably traveling nearly four miles in the process). The air temperature and humidity were nearly perfect, and many of the benches we passed were occupied by young heterosexuals in love.In other news, my autistic doppelganger has been located in Canada.
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