51 weeks ago we moved into this shiny new townhome. We hated the location but the home itself is pretty amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I declared that the cats would be groomed promptly upon our arrival so their out of control shedding wouldn’t tarnish the bright white interior.

A year later, I finally did it. It’s too late for this house, I’m afraid. Shedding occurred. All day. Every day. Hair floated through the air and blew across the ground like tumbleweeds. I can’t even tell you how many hairs I probably consumed just by breathing. Not so much something you want to hear on a food blog.

I tried brushing, obviously. You try brushing Ralph and see how much of your epidermis you come away with. I bought soft brushes, hard brushes, that damn $40 Furminator and those silly oven mitt brushes. No go.

But now… now I win. I played the groomer card. I didn’t want to. For a year straight I backed out of doing it. The night before I tried to back out. The day of I tried to back out. Stew made me do it. I swear.

Seeing the cats in any sort of distress causes me so much anxiety that I avoid putting them in any sort of unpleasant situation. In case you were wondering, going to the groomer is VERY unpleasant.

We joked about getting Ralphie a lion cut. We call her our little lion after all. I didn’t expect that to actually be the recommended haircut when we arrived. I almost said no. In fact, I cringed. I looked at the groomer like I might cry. I said, “But don’t you think she’ll feel embarrassed?”

She looked at me like I was crazy. Stew looked like he might explode with joy (say yes say yes say yes, I could see him willing me into action). I said yes.

Now Ralph looks like this:

I laugh every time I see her, which can’t be good for her self esteem. But seriously. Look at this fat roll on her butt:

Weaz went to the groomer, too. But she came out looking the same:

And hating me more:

Weaz doesn’t recognize Ralph anymore now that she’s a lion. She hisses every time she walks past her. Slowly but surely, she’s getting over that, which is good because it hurts Ralph’s feelings.

It’s so very hilarious, yes, but I didn’t just put her through hell for my own entertainment. Her fur was getting matted as she shed her winter coat. And Weaz won’t stop throwing up hairballs. It was a necessary evil but so very worth it. You want to know how much worth it? I’m not telling you. But I can justify it because I myself only get haircuts like once every two or three years and the rest of my upkeep is pretty Walmart-priced. So I can spend a hefty “personal care” budget sum on my two former street cats. That makes sense, right? Please tell me it makes sense.

Through it all, Waldo has yet to notice that we now have a small lion running around the house. Much the same way he failed to notice someone stealing Stew’s car out of the driveway. He’s a sleeper.

So that’s the story of how Ralph turned into a little lion. I hope her hair never grows back. She looks delightful and is the softest thing I have ever touched. Also, butt lump:

We’re off to pack up our lives. It’s moving day, y’all.