Declawistration

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.

 

 

 

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