Or "How to Cook with a Tiger in the Kitchen."
Our new little addition is quite the aspiring cook. Nary a day goes by that I don't have lots of help in the kitchen.
Henry isn't declawed and won't ever be.
I used to declaw my cats; in fact, the oldest three are front paw declawed. But after reading about the procedure and watching Fannie suffer with infections we decided declawing was not for us.
Trimming a cat's claws can be quite an adventure, however, requiring adult sons, fireplace gloves, and lots of resolve. Henry's claw-trimming events have been less than successful; imagine trying to put lipstick on a greased pig and you will only have an inkling of the difficulty involved.
Over the past couple of years and many hopelessly-stained shirts I've taken to wearing aprons. Full aprons like Grandma used to wear. This is where Henry comes in. He simply cannot resist the apron strings, whether dangling or fully tied, he spies those flaps of fabric and comes running.
Only, like any good wildcat, he charges silently, attacking his prey with shocking ferocity and skill.
These days my cooking is punctuated by frequent screams and cries for help.
It's not easy to free oneself from a rear attack. And man, do those little claws hurt!
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