Captain came to me with no front claws. It is therefore supercute and slightly pathetic when he scratches because other than fulfilling some instinctual need, he’s really not accomplishing much. I try to stop him from “scratching” inappropriate objects like laundry baskets and couch arms just to be fair (because Bill fer sure definitely has front claws–which we will revisit in a moment–and gets yelled at when he scratches inappropriately) but with Captain, it’s hard to care. No damage, no harm, just a Not Fair, Double Standard! look of incredulity on Bill.
Generally, I think it’s cruel to declaw cats. Again, the instinctual need for the scratching! But also for self-defense and you know, climbing on stuff without falling down. I’m not saying it’s not convenient that the Captain is clawless but I wouldn’t have done it myself.
But then I’m sitting on the kitchen floor obsessively brushing Bill’s backside this morning hoping that I can harvest the fur directly rather than picking it up in chunks all over the floor–or off of my pants which I think is what prompted the brushing in the first place–when the little poop monster gets too brush happy and grabs my hand, claws a’blazing, and rips a couple of chunks of skin off of my fingers.
“DAMNIT, WILLIAM, NO CLAWS!” I use his pretend full name when I’m mad. “NO MORE BRUSHIES FOR YOU!”
And now, watching the hydrogen peroxide bubble on my shiny new finger hole, I find myself repeatedly reminding myself, Declawing is cruel and expensive. Declawing is cruel and expensive. Damnit, cat, this crap stings and you are SO LUCKY I think declawing is cruel and expensive.