Shedding Season

Alex is a tiny cat, only about 6.5 pounds. Under all that hair, he's skin and bones; he's always been that way, even though we try to let him eat as much as he will. What he lacks in fat, though, he makes up in hair.

His previous owner used to have the groomer shave him, because he hates being brushed. He looks pretty silly when he's shaved, but we kept it up for a little while after he came to live with us (at age 8). Soon, though, the groomer recommended we discontinue the shaving because of his vigorous struggles and their concern about his aging heart. So we had to go back to brushing. He accepts a gentle combing around his head and neck, which is good, because he drools when he sleeps. For the rest of his body, though, it's a trial.

Since he's so small, I can overcome his resistance, but he's a good fighter. To keep the trauma at a minimum, I only brush his two or three times a week. But at this time of year, the fur factory goes into overdrive. The pile of hair next to him in the picture is from just one brushing, after only two days. And the pile from the previous brushing was twice as big. An equal amount of hair ends up on my clothes. He's a hairy beast.

The howling and yowling bring Rusty and Detour running to share in the rewards. Everybody gets hairball medicine (which we've convinced them is a treat) and some genuine cat treats, whenever Alex gets brushed. Alex pays the price, but everybody benefits. And he looks so nice afterwards.