Well, this is a first. Someone wants me to expand on something. Usually it’s the opposite (oh, you may not have requested it directly, but I've heard your disgruntled rumblings).
Small Town Mommy left me a request:
I know you have sworn off of all things cat, but I want to hear more about the Furminator. I keep finding that same ball in a pile on my rug (usually after being ingested by a cat). Perform a public service and talk more about your Furminator.
I’m going to assume that by “small ball” she is referring to cat hair and not her child (come on, that’s fair, my cats are large enough to ingest my child) and go from there.
STM, I, too find the same ball of fur on my rugs (see above). Every time the damn cat sits, he leaves tufts of fur. He has a dreadlock on his ass that’s the size of a jumbo muffin. We try to have him professionally shaved every so often because the sight of him cleaning himself and eating his fur makes me vomit uncontrollably, but he doesn’t like to leave the house.
In fact, the last time I dropped him off at a pet spa, the receptionist left me a nasty message an hour later telling me that I had to get my animal right away because he’d bitten the groomer and it’s the spa’s policy that if an animal bites the groomer, the animal must be picked up within 30 minutes or they charge you a fee. (They could have been creative and named the fee something like “your pet sucks so bad fee" but they weren’t—they were just blandly angry. Yawn).
I got there as soon as humanly possible, but the receptionist was still a bitch. And the poor kitty! He was in a half-shaved, half-crazed state. He looked like he had mange! And they still wanted me to pay.
Which I did. Right before I asked her when I could make another appointment. (If you’re going to behave like an asshole then I am going to behave like a moron, it’s called the ying and yang of commerce.)
But let’s get back to that Arnold Schwarzenegger of fur removal shall we?
At first I wasn’t that impressed, but once you get going and the fur starts flying, it’s hard to stop (I mean it, I'm thinking about doing it right now). The biggest problem was the stupid cat. I had to chase him from room to room then jump as he lunged for my hand. At one point I put a pile of treats in front of him so he’d sit still. I wanted to get my Furminating hands on his fluffy belly so bad, but that would have required a muzzle.
The pile I so diligently documented took about 20 minutes to harvest. I’m guessing it was about five Starbursts high (see below). The nice thing is that the brush keeps collecting fur no matter how full the teeth are, so you’re not constantly stopping to clean it. Next time I might order the larger model— the Equine Tool perhaps—because the cat is the size of a small pony.
My only concern is that the brush is metal and you have to rake kind of hard to catch the fur, so I worried I was hurting him. But when I was through with him, he looked about 10 pounds lighter and happier. And yes, shinier.
So, wrapping up, I’d highly recommend the Furminator if: (a) you have time to dedicate to brushing, (b) your pet will sit still long enough to get the process going and (c) you remember not to wear socks while you’re Furminating because you will look like Sasquatch when you’re done.
STM, I hope that answers some of your questions.
This is the Furminator Queen officially signing off. (Seriously, I feel like I'm starting to infringe on Daisy's turf.)
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.