|Isn't he just so sweet looking?|
Oh, how quickly that can change.
If you ever think to yourself, "Self, that fat cat is laying there all panty & hot & miserable. Come on, Self, your pet groomer can shave Nemo's belly, why can't you do Watson's & make him all comfy in this heat too? He'll thank you, I promise."
Let's say, hypothetically of course, you fail to remove that thought from your wee bitty brain. This is what would happen if you so choose to forge ahead with your Save Fat Cat From Hot Summer scheme. Hypothetically.
Fat Cat is very agile when threatened by a buzzing facial hair trimmer. Just getting that out there in case you let his size fool you. Fat does NOT equate to a lack in agility. Once you learn this, you best not forget it.
First he lays in your arms all content & stupid-looking, business as usual. "La dee da, I don't know what's going on, but I don't have to move any part of myself, so it's all good. Let her do the work so I keep my fat stores intact."
Fat Cat doesn't even see the trimmer coming near him. Just lays there looking at the wall, admiring the color of paint. "What color do you think that is? It can't just be called Shade of Brown. Is that semi-gloss?"
Then the trimmer is turned on. Fat Cat suddenly becomes obsessed by demons containing 22 legs, each leg housing 12 claws able to simultaneously rotate in every direction & slice through clothing and skin in 1 smooth motion before you can even blink an eye. That many legs & claws all flying at your person makes you think just one thing: I am going to be Cuisinart'ed.
As 264 claws fly into you, legs from above you, legs beside you, legs underneath you, legs in your clothing, legs on your head, leg in your ear, a leg between your toes, all pulling apart each & every skin cell you own, you don't even have time to duck & cover so they don't rip out your eyeballs. Dear God, don't let a claw rip out an eyeball! Save my eyeballs!
You only have 2 arms. That's not nearly enough to fight off that many legs coming from so many directions! Even the most talented multi-tasking Mama can't handle that on her own. Don't bother trying to cover your face because your arms are currently being ripped apart by many claws & you cannot get your hands out of their grasp in order to get your hands near your face. Go ahead & try to get into a fetal position but you'll only curve your body around Fat Cat & his flying claws. You are stuck in this squatting position on your bathroom floor because any attempt at moving gets you caught up in the cyclone of Fat Cat's Claws of Fury. Once caught in that cyclone, you cannot escape.
It's then that you catch a glimpse of Fat Cat's own eyes. It's not fear you see. It's death. He is willing to kill you in order to save himself. You are not only going to be Cuisinart'ed, but you're not going to live to tell about it.
As Fat Cat's legs twist in complete circles as if not attached to his body, his tongue spewing venom all across you & the bathroom, & the many claws tear off your flesh along with your clothing, you don't even have time to call for help. While fighting off this possessed demon of a cat who's only objective is to kill the force that brought a buzzing trimmer within 5 feet of him, your brain doesn't have time to form words that could possibly make sense when they leave your mouth. You are left all alone to battle with this unholiest of unholy that has been unleashed in your presence.
Thankfully, this somersaulting, 22-legged, howling, growling, mass of flying fur only seems to last hours. It's over in 6 seconds. And you survive.
I can assure that you will not only live to tell about being Cuisinart'ed by Fat Cat, but you will only ever attempt that one time.