The promise of a revolutionary new method of claw trimming is all hype, sadly.
I was hyped when I saw the headline.
“Cat Owners Rejoice,” the Newsweek headline blares. “Science Can Make Trimming Claws Less Stressful.”
Well if cat owners are rejoicing, it’s gotta be amazing, yeah?
I imagined cat affionados feting the creator of some miraculous new device that keeps cats comfortably restrained and relaxed, or maybe celebrating the discovery of some previously-unknown sound frequency that lulls felines into such a state of carefree bliss that they purr contentedly while we carefully clip their claws.
What I didn’t expect was a “protocol” that amounts to: Touch your cat’s leg. If he doesn’t try to murder you, touch your cat’s paw. If he still doesn’t murder you, trim a single claw. Repeat steps the next time your cat is in an agreeable mood.
That’s it. That’s the revolutionary new method that “science” made for us, according to Newsweek. “Science” must be proud of itself!
With this wonderful new method I should be able to trim one of Bud’s paws by 2067.
Obviously this is not science. It’s a method, not research. It’s well-intentioned and designed to keep cats comfortable, and those are noble goals, but calling it “science” is misleading, just like every other dumb headline that asserts “science says” or something is true “according to science,” as if science is an omniscient entity lounging on pillows, being fed candied figs by worshipful attendants and occasionally dispensing little nuggets of wisdom for our tiny little brains to absorb.
“The designated hitter rule shall henceforth be abolished,” Science says betwixt pulls from a hookah. “Fifty years of conclusive OPS plus FIP and OAVG data dictate it must be so.”
Come to think of it, that probably is what most Americans think science is. The other half think it’s Anthony “I Am Soyence” Fauci.
Where were we? Ah yes, cat claws!
The truth is I’ve give up on trimming Bud’s claws. If I notice a really long one I’ll try to trim it, but otherwise I leave the job to him and his 4-foot scratching post.
Maybe that makes me a bad caretaker, but I challenge anyone who’d stick me with that label to try trimming Buddy’s claws.
The little dude goes from chill and relaxed to demonic in a millisecond. He yowls, he thrashes, he flails with claws out and tries to bite any flesh he can reach, no matter how careful I am to try at the “right” time, how gentle I handle him, how careful I am to avoid the quick.
Bribe him with treats? Hah! He will stop yowling and thrashing about with murderous intent just long enough to gobble down the yums, then return to being a whirlwind of claws and teeth without skipping a beat.
And you should hear him. It sounds like I’m torturing Elmo, for crying out loud.
Thankfully he doesn’t hold a grudge and if I give up on trimming, he’ll be ready to plop down into my lap within minutes.
It’s generally understood that all that ghastly claw trimming nonsense is behind us, and we shall speak no more of it.
Speaking of ghastly business, the below video started auto-playing while I was on the throne and filling the idle time by searching for cat-related news:
Bud, who had accompanied me to the human litter box chamber, looked alarmed and disturbed.
I laughed.
“See? You could have gotten stuck with someone who baby talked you, and then you wouldn’t need claw trimming as an excuse to kill humans.”
Now I know exactly what to do to herd him into the bedroom next time I need to vacuum.
“It’s okay, birdie! I’m gonna take care of you, birdie! Okay?!”
Ah, welcome to Casa de Buddy, home of two assholes!
Pain In The Bud 