My Pussy Is Hideous

My cat is beautiful; my cat is hideous. My cat has a neckbeard and a Q-tip for a tail. In the right light, she looks like two animals hastily cobbled together—my old cat’s face floating above the negative space where her furry body used to be. She’s wearing Ugg boots to go with her revenge body, and perhaps I am imagining it, but there is a bit of pep in her step. Now that the contours of her body are revealed, she seems to have a renewed spirit.

The boy cat that lives at my home is a caricature of fragile masculinity, his macho bluster existing only as a shield for his delicate ego. He is a walking trigger warning. Any change in the status quo sends him into a tailspin. The response to her appearance was negative at first, likely because she smelled of artificial flowers and cat shampoo. This new twist has added a frisson of danger and excitement to their interactions. At the advice of the groomer, I spent an hour rubbing a soft cloth on my newly-shorn cat and ferrying it to the boy cat, in an attempt to acclimate him with her scent. It did not work.

Regrets: None at this time on my part; as for the cat, it’s hard to tell.

Lingering questions: Will her hair grow back? Will it be thick and lustrous? How long will it take? Does she still love me? Will she murder me in the night? Will the boy cat’s psychogenic alopecia on his stomach go away now?

Please stay tuned all summer for periodic, brief updates on my hideous pussy.