Thursday, January 19, 2012
I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes removing white kitty fur from my black fleece jacket and I’ve learned two valuable lessons: (1) my life has been needlessly shortened by fifteen minutes, and (2) if one owns a cat, one should never own fleece.
Lest you think this was accumulated kitty hair build-up on my fleece jacket, I will dispel that notion by assuring you that I just took the jacket out of the dryer. And when I first inspected it, it was kitty-hair-free.
The error of my ways occurred when I laid the jacket on the bed for approximately 2.3 seconds while I donned a turtleneck to wear under the jacket. The whisper of the fleece as it landed on the bed was evidently loud enough for Twinks to hear three rooms and a set of stairs away – and she immediately materialized on top of my jacket. She’s like a veritable homing pigeon. She comes home to roost on whatever article of clothing is laid on the bed, no matter how briefly.
Sometimes this is cute. Like when I’ve taken the clothes from the dryer and have laid them on the bed to start folding them. Twinks will pounce on top of the clothes and try to wrestle me for Vince’s socks. I always win, of course. But it’s kind of funny to pull, say, a pillowcase out from under her because she does a kitty flip that falls just short of an actual somersault. And then she immediately pounces upon the next article of clothing on the bed as if daring me to try to take it, too.
Jinx, our mostly black cat, on the other hand, does not seem to have this same clothes fetish. Which is sort of a shame – because if she landed on my black fleece jacket, her fur would not be quite as noticeable as Twinks more white-than-black fur.
But I have to admit, I get kind of grossed out when I see people with pet fur all over their clothes. Okay, so it’s nice in a way because it tells me they have pets whom they must love to collect all that pet fur – but, c’mon – it’s also pretty yucky. Lint brushes were invented for this very reason. (Besides removing actual, uh, lint.)
I’m already at a disadvantage because I tend to wear black a lot and, like a dog, I tend to shed the hair on my head a lot. I’ve even been known to do that chasing-my-tail dog maneuver to try to remove the long blond hairs from the back of my jacket. Sure, sure, I could try removing the jacket first and then simply collecting the stray hairs, but I know that I’m at least entertaining, if nothing else.
Perhaps I should switch my wardrobe to a more Jane-hair- and Twinks-fur-friendly white or beige color, but I’m sort of attached to my black wardrobe. For one thing, white is too hard to keep pristinely white. And for another, beige is too hard to match up. You’ve got your beige, and your bisque and your ecru, among about a billion other variations. Plus, you then have too many color choices to make with tops and bottoms and legwear and shoe wear and purses and belts. It’d take me forever to get ready in the morning.
As it is, I throw on a pair of black slacks and something coordinating on top. Done. I only buy purses that are black or will coordinate with black. And most of my zillion pairs of shoes are black. Other than my click-my-heels-three-times-red patent Dorothy shoes.
So I guess if I’m sticking to my black wardrobe, my only recourse will be to carry a lint brush with me wherever I go. Either that or get rid of the fleece. Or Twinks. No, no…the fleece. (But it’s cold out there…)
Ah, okay...I’ve got it. If I’m not going to get rid of either the fleece or the cat, I’ll just have to remember to never put my fleece jacket on the bed again. Ever. Even if it’s only for approximately 2.3 seconds.