My poor cat! I put her through the ringer tonight. She is an Exotic Short-hair, which just means she's a cross between a Persian and a Tabby. She's got a smushed face and THICK short fur. My parents let her out during the day, and her favorite past-time outside is to roll around in the oil-soaked street.
Tonight when we were all sitting in the living room, I noticed how matted Georgie's fur was getting, and decided to brush it out (she HATES her fur being brushed, by the way). So I bundled myself up in a coat for protection against her claws, grabbed the brush, and trapped Georgie in a vice grip with one arm while I tried to brush her out with the other.
OH MAN. She had a FIT. She hissed and spit and bit and scratched and SCREAMED as if I were torturing her to death. She squirmed and kicked so bad that I nearly lost my grip a few times. I finally had to enlist Christine's help, and while I held Georgie fast, Christine had to do the brushing. We got a few of the rats nests out of Georgie's pelt before we decided to give her a break. We put her in the bathroom (her favorite place) with her food to let her calm down.
I went in to check on her 20 minutes later, and found her huddled in the sink (her favorite sleeping spot), arms tucked in what looked like the fetal position, head ducked and ears lowered. I felt so bad! She looked so pitiful huddled in the sink like that, but when I moved to pet her, she lifted her head to meet my hand and purred when I scratched her neck.
I suppose all is forgiven, and I'm glad. All I wanted to do was brush her coat.
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