by Anjie Coates
Photo by Anjie Coates
- yd is a gorgeous Himalayan who comes in for regular baths and nail trims. He was named for Sid Vicious, the famous punk rock artist, and has the attitude to match.
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“Hiya, Syd,” I greet.
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Syd languidly steps from his crate and looks up at me with a dry look and a yawn: “You’d best be brief. I have things to do and an agenda to keep.”
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“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, for cutting into your busy schedule,” I reply.
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Syd: “Well, get on with it, but don’t cut my nails. How will I demand what I must from my Mom if you cut them off every time?”
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“Well, that’s the point; you make your Mom bleed,” I say.
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Syd: “That’s not my fault.”
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“But you scratch her, how is that not your fault?” I ask.
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Syd’s head swivels to look at me, and he stares into my soul: “I believe I’ve already been rather clear on that point, have I not?”
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“Yes, you have. I need your belly, please,” I tell him.
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With a long-suffering sigh, Syd flops onto his side: “Is this really necessary?”
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“I can’t send you home with a wet stomach, Syd. So yes, it’s necessary,” I reply.
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Syd: “Very well. But do hurry. As I said, I’m late for my nap, and when I’m late for my nap, I get grumpy.”
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“Get grumpy?” I counter with a hint of sarcasm.
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I lift his foreleg paw to trim his nails, and he pulls his foot away: “Woman! Did we not discuss this?”
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“Yes, we did, and I know full well you make your Mom bleed, so those nails will be trimmed,” I reply.
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Syd turns his head away in disgust: “Fine, but I’m not going to look; I can’t bear it.”
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“OK, there. All your nails are done. That wasn’t really that bad, was it?” I ask.
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Syd: “It absolutely was. You’ve not only trimmed my nails, you’ve taken my autonomy.”
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“Syd, they do grow back. This is just a precaution for your Mom,” I reply while stifling a laugh.
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Syd: “Sell your wares, nail-clipping woman.”
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“How many times have we clipped your nails, Syd?” I ask.
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Syd: “Too many to count.”
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“And they always grow back,” I remind him.
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Syd: “Yes, and then I’m brought back here to this haven of happy bubbles and heated towels only to have you clip them again.”
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“But you like the heated towels,” I counter.
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Syd: “That’s beside the point.”
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“Do you not want a heated towel?” I ask.
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Syd: “Of course I do! What do you take me for?”
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“Finished. I’ll take you for finished,” I reply as I wrap him in a towel and carry him to the picture room.
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I offer him a few costumes, and he decides on the ninja.
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Syd: “Ahh yes, the best costume for a cat; silent and deadly. And oh, it even has a throwing star!”
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“OK, you ready?” I ask.
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Syd: “Yes, you may proceed,” as he looks directly into the camera and poses.
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“You may be grouchy sometimes, Syd, but you are stunning. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” I ask in a rhetorical tone.
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Syd smiles and looks up at me: