Chez Bang Bang Mysteries Part Deux

Hi, Reader, Hello!! I’ve missed you!! I know, I know – it’s my own dern fault. I had every good intention of having lots to say, and then the week just flew on by and here we sit on a Sunday night.

So let’s talk about cats. Specifically, the cuteness of my clowder.

Because, Reader.

They.

Are.

Cute.

Just look at Nosey Dots. This amount of cuteness just happened a few short seconds ago.

He was cute-ing all over the chair next to me, showing me his big belly and just daring me to not scratch it.

Of course I scratched it. Because it’s HUGE. And FURRY. And IRRESISTIBLE.

If you wanna come over and get give him a scratch yourself, come on. The door at Chez Bang Bang is always open. Except when it’s locked against Bad Guys.  Also, we’re awesome. The door says so.

Again, Bad Guys, steer clear. We’re awesome, but we will shoot you. With cat hairballs and litter clumps, which is way worse than bullets. But we have those, too, as a last resort.

So basically what I’m saying is, the door is open for friendies, not foes.

Now back to cats.  This one assists me on the computer by sleeping between the computer and my boobies, making me really stretch to reach the keyboard, so basically she’s like a fitness trainer.

She also needs to go back to the vet Monday evening because she has a really gross-ish strawberry red boo-boo on her hairless tummy, right on the spot where I like to smooch her.

You know it’s concerning when I’m hoping it’s just some weird skin infection vs. something else more worrisome. She was treated for a different kinda rash about a month ago, so fingers crossed it’s just a shot and a check for $150 that’ll fix her right up.

A clowder doesn’t come cheap. But they do come soft, so yin-yang or something like that. Is that how yin-yang works?

Lastly, in other cat news, I believe some stranger-danger person has been shaving my pussycat without permissions. Because look at Toby’s side:

That is my perplexed face, making small pursed lips of disapproval. And looking especially bedraggled because I cooked and cleaned today and got home at 4 a.m. last night/this morning so stop judging me, Reader!

My brother actually pointed out the shorn fur, because we are apparently horrible cat parents and didn’t notice it ourselves. That was a little over a week ago. Today he is still shorn on the sides, as displayed above.

The shorn hair is on both sides.

Weird, right, Reader??

What could possibly cause shorn sides on my pussycat, except some mad clipper with an Edward Sissorshands complex and a manifesto against cats??

We let the boy cats outside when we’re home. Only for a few hours, and they generally stick around the house. They love it out there. They catch moles and visit the neighbors. Most of the neighbors really enjoy them. But apparently there’s one outlier neighbor who does not.

There are a new set of neighbors who’ve moved in across the street from Chez Bang Bang. They’ve been there a couple months now. And this particular dum-dum of a cat sometimes thinks that’s his house, because he has a pee-brain and doesn’t come to the right house until I yell “here kitty kitty.” Then he’ll come a-running across the street towards home, meowing all the way.

So my very accusatory-without-any-proof guess is that it’s these new neighbors who perhaps did not enjoy the visit from my fella and thought they’d send a little message our way.

What do you think, Reader? Is there some other practical reason why his sides would be shorn??

Let’s just be frank here. If I do in fact find out that my kitteh was shaved by some neighborhood assailant, hell will hath no fury like Trixie Bang Bang on a revenge rampage. Because T. Swift isn’t the only one who can do revenge. Ask my ex-husbands, one whom I cleaned the toilet with his toothbrush and then lovingly placed it back in the holder after there was zero possibility of my lips and his ever touching again.

So yeah. I’d like to think I’ve outgrown that sort of uncomely behavior. But don’t mess with my pussy cats. They may be meowing at your front door, but just gently point them home. There’s no need for a de-furring.

And yes, I’m well aware I could just keep them indoors at all times, which is how I’ve always ran my clowder until the newest batch of vacation souvenirs arrived two or so summers ago. They want the outdoors, and I sort of feel like a kidnapper when they so clearly yearn for wide open spaces, which is mostly my own yard except for the few times they go visiting.

Weigh in, Reader. I need a voice of reason here.  Advice? Thoughts? Revenge Tactics?

I could start by passing out complimentary toothbrushes to the new neighbors, should I find out they are deserving of such. And let’s face it, chances are fairly good that I can get to the bottom of this as a result of my dedicated hours upon hours of Forensic Files. Perhaps Nancy Grace needs to get in on this case. She can nickname the case the Shaved Pussy Mama Drama.

You knew I was going to go there, Reader. Don’t act shocked. It was all I could do to wait this long. You’re welcome.