The Naminator and the Furminator--Another Cat Post

Sam-I-Am the cat loves life more than any creature I’ve ever known. He’s a dark-toned, bow-legged Siamese mutt, with piercing blue eyes, stubby legs that barely keep his belly off the floor, and a head too small for his chunky 18-pound body. Sammy is a dog cat. Like any puppy, he loves brisk belly rubs, and he comes trotting and mewing when he is called. When you pick him up, he wraps his short chunky arms around you in a kitty bear hug and nips your nose. He goes by many nicknames: Sammy, Green Eggs and Ham, Penguin, The Doings Kitty, The Naminator. He drinks by dipping a paw in his water bowl (or a glass when he can get away with it), slurping the water off his paw. He winters on the heat grate in the kitchen and summers on the printer in my office window.

The Naminator loves to play, despite a chronic breathing condition that makes him snort, wheeze, and occasionally sneeze ribbons of brown snot. Sam-I-Am was found on the street when he was barely a week old, suffering from a respiratory disease that left his sinus cavities in tatters. The consensus among the half dozen vets we've consulted is that there is nothing we can do to stop his sniffles (except the one vet who tried to sell us a $2600 surgery that might or might not work and might or might not kill him), so we toss him on the floor whenever he gets ready to erupt, wipe off his little nose when he’s done, and make do.

Sam-I-Am enjoys tearing up paper and batting paper balls we throw at him. But his favorite treat of all is being brushed with his Furminator. I bought the Furminator at the vet’s office. This was a new vet for us, and I was annoyed that they had a tv in their small waiting room running a looping infomercial for a pet brush. I resent being a captive audience for advertising, but this time they got me. I sat watching the tufts of fur fly off the cats and dogs, and by the time I left the vet, I had succumbed.

The Furminator was the only good thing that came of that vet visit. The doctor was sure he could cure Sammy’s sneezing and prescribed some antibiotics that nearly killed our cat. The pills made SamIAm so nauseated that he stopped eating. He lost 6 or 7 pounds in 3 days and had to be hospitalized. The (new) vet told us that some cats who become anorexic never start eating again, refusing food until they starve to death. When we brought him home, we spent days spoon-feeding SamIAm soft food, rubbing it on his mouth until he finally remembered how to eat. We never returned to the vet who nearly killed our Sam, but at least one good thing came out of it: The Furminator.

Every morning, the Naminator races to the bathroom and leaps up to the edge of the tub with a little cry, demanding to be brushed. His Furminator throws him into paroxysms of bliss. He rubs his nose and cheeks on the shower glass and writhes as the fur comes off in fluffy bunches. And I am happy to report that he can spare it: Our one-time anorexic kitty is back to his fighting weight, plus a few extra pounds to spare.