I have spoken a few times about the fact that our sweet Poppy girl is a perma-shedder. It honestly would be a lot more annoying if she didn't look like this.
I'm damn cute, bitches.
In addition to being unbelievably sweet, this year she has also turned into a huge cuddler. She's been a part of our little family for six years now, and she's always been rather aloof. But this year she has been born again as a warm, purring, little feline that loves nothing more than to stretch out on your chest with her head tucked under your chin, purring and purring and purring.
However the problem with her being born again as a cuddler is that our clothing has never looked worse. And when we're not around to cuddle? Not a big deal in Poppy's world: she just snuggles into our discarded clothes, which really translates to meaning she sleeps in my clothing because Dan always folds his and puts it away whereas I toss mine in a heap on the floor. Earlier this year I had my black wool winter coat lying on my bed and when I remembered to hang it up a few hours later, the damage had been done. Her long white hairs were burred into the jacket and nothing I did to remove them worked. So I had to take the jacket to the dry-cleaner, and the lady picked up my jacket between pinched thumbs and index fingers and handled it like it was a bag of bio-hazard feces. It was mortifying. Even worse was I had to try and explain in stilted in German that my cat and slept on it, which made her look at me with wrathful judgment that implied: why would your jacket be lying on a bed and not hanging in a closet?
Our only saving grace in maintaining the illusion that we were winning the battle of Poppy's blowing coat is that she loves being brushed: by Dan. She hates it when I brush her. So we'd be able to pick a few hairs off and consider ourselves victorious that those hadn't end up on the floor.
So when I was home this summer, I popped into one of my favourite pet shops after work just to have a browse. As I admired the SPCA kittens, and the little budgies, and the rabbits, I worked my around to the display of cat toys. As I meandered over, I swear that a beam of light shone from the heavens and I heard the angels sing that joyous anthem that Harold and Kumar heard when they finally made it Whitecastle: before me stood a mighty display of FURminator cat brushes.
I was saved.
Why it had never occurred to me to buy this particular tool before, I have no idea. I eagerly rushed over to the display and then nearly choked when I saw the price. What the...$60 for a cat brush? Was this a joke? As I pondered the price, a sales associate clad in her khaki safari duds came over and cheerfully asked me if I needed any help.
"Um, yeah. We have a cat that sheds like crazy, and I was considering buying this brush. But you're charging $60 for it."
Unfazed by my thrifty disbelief, the girl made her sales pitch. "I know it seems like a lot of money, but it is the best. Seriously, you'll be amazed at how much excess hair this thing can pull off. It doesn't shave the cat, it just removes all the excess hair that's already come loose."
"But, it's $60 dollars. I don't even own a hairbrush that expensive."
"You know what, there are knock-offs out there, but really they don't do as good a job as this one. I'm serious, I have the knock-off and I have this one and this one is just better."
Then she went on to explain the double blade to me, and yaddy yaddy yadda.
"Listen, if I buy this I can't return it. I don't live here. So you are 100% guaranteeing me that I will be satisfied with this. That I will not be upset that I spent $60 dollars on a brush."
"I am seriously guaranteeing it."
I chose to believe her, she gave me a discount, and I bought the FURminator.
Internet: if there is someone in your life who goes absolutely bat-shit mental over shedding animals, you need to buy them this and stick it under the tree or in their stocking.
This first time we used this, we pulled a bag of hair off her. To clarify: that is a bag of hair that was already loose and would have ended up all over our rug, our chairs, our clothes, and likely in my morning yogurt. As Dan gently brushed away, we were giggling in crazy disbelief.
I mean, holy shit...A BAG OF HAIR.
As the weeks went by, the more we brushed her the less hair came off. And we noticed a difference. Seriously, our black area rug was black again; we didn't need to vacuum every day; I could eat breakfast without consuming Poppy hair.
We were free!
This was worth what I paid for it, and it will make a great gift for that OCD person in your life who can't handle shedding pets. And I guarantee it will provide Christmas post-turkey fun for the whole family. Just gather around the family cat or dog, brush gently, and be prepared to be absolutely gobsmacked by how much shedding hair will come off.
Though the best thing to find under the Christmas tree is of course our Poppy.
But she's all ours.