How to Give Your Cat a Pet-i-cure

Rachel Peters

You’re sitting on the couch watching some television, and your cat walks into the room. He’s fuzzy, he’s cute, and he’s got this little squishy face you cannot go one more minute without having him in your arms. He looks up at you, and you pat your lap to signal him to come and sit with you. With a small meow, he jumps up onto your lap, and there it is. You wince in pain, his little claws, so tiny but so sharp, digging into your thighs. He’s overdue for a trim. What do you do?

Well, the first part is probably the most difficult. You lift him off of your lap to get the cat nail clippers. He sees you pull them out of the drawer and knows what’s coming. His eyes widen, and you stare each other down. You must be careful: one step too quick, and he’s gone. You examine your options. You could step directly toward him and the possibility of him running away instantly is high. Or you could sit down in front of him and let him come to you. Better to let him make the decision. You bend your knees, about to sit down on the floor, his ears back and his eyes wide. But you’ve done it; you’ve moved too quickly. He bolts, and now you must spend ten minutes chasing him down.

Here, we will enter the second part of the operation. You’ve got your squirming cat in your arms, and now you must call for a partner and backup. Your sister comes in to help, taking the cat from your arms, and your mom is close by. Not only do you have your nail trimmers, but you have the full salon. Might as well get it done all at once, right? You select your clippers from your array of tools, among tiny bottles of kitty nail glue and a variety of colored nail caps. In your sister’s arms, he wiggles and yells and stares up at you in fury. You pick up a tiny paw, and he screams. Startled, you drop the foot and stare at him. He’s the sweetest little guy until you threaten him with a pedicure.

Third, you must have an intense pep talk with your mother. Your cat lays in your arms, too exhausted to bother fighting when his predator is no longer in sight. She pets him and he looks at her with sad eyes. But don’t be fooled by his pitiful expression as we move to the fourth step. Hell has been unleashed, and it’s coming at you full speed.

It’s go-time. He’s relaxed enough to sit still. With one person holding the cat and another holding out a paw, you whip out the clippers and begin to clip each little nail. He auditions for drama club, singing like an opera singer who’s just lost her true love. He claws and bites, but you mustn’t give up yet. Bandaids are your post-nail-salon best friend.

Now we arrive at the fifth step. Imagine you’ve never done archery, and you’ve got a bow and arrow. Your goal is to shoot a perfect target on the first try. Impossible, right? Well, not impossible, but very difficult. You have about as good of a chance of getting that perfect shot as you do getting the tiny pink nail cap onto a single cat toenail on the first try. You place a small drop of nail glue on the inside of the cap and attempt to apply it to one of the nails. He fusses and bites, and this time his teeth sink a little too deep. Your sister cries out in pain, and her grip on the cat loosens. He jumps out of her arms and slides himself underneath the couch. Your mom treats your sister’s wounds, and you sit on the couch, defeated.

Step six. You are outraged and annoyed. This little guy weighs fifteen pounds and he’s ruling your life. Enough is enough. You reach underneath the couch and grab his scruff and pull him out from underneath as he howls. Your mom takes over the wounded soldier’s role of controlling the monster, and you guys mean business. With the cat’s little arms held to his chest and his head pulled away from within reach of anyone’s skin, you prepare the nail caps. You slide them onto each of the claws, one by one, though one would think you guys were doing something brutally horrific with the way he screams.

Step seven. You’re so close, you’re on the last cap. You can do it, you slide that cap on like it’s nothing. You’re not a scaredy cat anymore. However, your cat is, at the very least by definition.

You’re finished! You release the disagreeable feline; he runs down the hall and hides underneath one of the beds. You put a treat on top of his scratching post for him to find later, even though he doesn’t deserve it; he’s been as difficult as possible.

Moving on to step eight. You must console the little guy. He’s a pain in the neck, but you still love him. You lay down on your stomach on the floor next to the bed. He stares at you with fear and wide eyes and lets out a little chirp. You grab the treat jar and shake it. He slowly crawls out and sniffs the jar, and you reach in and hand him a treat. He hesitates and slowly eats it and then lovingly rubs his head against your knee. You pet him, helping to calm his nerves and relax after that ridiculous spa session. And you look down and notice two teeth-marked claw caps lying on the floor underneath the bed and two bare kitty nails on one of his paws.

Step nine. Cry.