The battle

Once again I found myself near Butter's rear end.

Armed with my weapon



we headed to the back porch.

I was reminiscent of the days we would clean before someone came to clean, for Miss Butter has an 8am appointment at the beauty parlor tomorrow. But brush we did. And cut. And fight.

These are the pants I wore into the battle.



Needless to say, it was hairy.

I brushed, and I snipped. And I brished and I snupped. And because she could not squeeze my hand in agony, I let her bite it.

She is a sweet girl, she did not want to bite me. Every time I stopped the brushing she would lick my hand, and swat at the brush.

I said "stop".

I think she was saying "stop" too.

And after a while, I did.



We made some progress.

She is much pleased with herself. And fancies herself to be the prettiest girl in the house. And because of my swollen allergy eyes and kankersore lip, I do believe she's right.

Now she rests. And considers her thoughts toward human held tools.



Tomorrow is another day for her. More snipping and tugging.

But by then, she will have forgotten about the battle.