MaMA and I had a fight! It was a terrible, roaring brawl!
To be precise, I had a terrible, roaring brawl; MaMA didn’t.
I should have expected it. I’ve been catching my claws on the blankets for over a week now, and crying piteously when I get caught. I should say that’s my intention. Perhaps my cries are a touch more strident than I intend, because MaMA calls me “Eliza Mewlittle” and says, “HEAvens, what a noise!”
At any rate, MaMA reached into her bag’o’stuff and pulled out the claw clipper. She’s clipped my claws before, but I simply didn’t fancy it that day. Nevertheless, she persisted, attacking the claws on all four of my paws.
I tried to pull away, but she held me fast. I yowled, I hissed, I growled. Charles understood the depth of my antipathy for he, from the other room, called, “You better leave that cat alone! You better not mess with that cat!” I clawed her terribly, and tore her flesh with my teeth. Yes, all right, I smacked at her and pretended I was going to chomp her, but I didn’t actually touch her.
Meanwhile, MaMA continued her work, only saying, “Yes, I know. Hush, now. It’s okay,” and, occasionally, “Ah-AH!”
Finally, she was done. The instant she released the final paw, I stopped growling, curled up beside her, and went to sleep.
Let that be a lesson to her!
Here is one of my (I confess it, much more comfortable) clipped paws.