My mom, who cares for my cats because Mower is allergic and would DIE if they were here, took the oldest cat, Rusty, to the vet because she had matted fur all over. She just doesn't have the staying power to lick it all out at her age, which is 15.

They just wanted to shave just the rear end, but went a little further when they saw how much was matted. She was camera-shy but friendly with the kids, which is great. She used to be an attack cat. My grandfather, when he came to visit, couldn't remember my name and called me the orange-haired girl, but he remembered Rusty. He'd point at her, finger shaking, and say, "That one bites."

I'd bite too if my hair was matted to my ass. Luckily I am able to comb mine into an interior beehive, which is quite the task to shampoo and condition.

Then there is Lucky, who loses his fur on his body in two cycles a year. He looks a lot like the homeless guy who hit me up in downtown, only still cute enough to share the couch with. He's Rusty in reverse.

And just for fun, the other two cats, Misty, the white one, and Happiness, the black one. Misty I got while in college, and gave her to my mother. She seemed like such a sweet little girl, until my father informed me that she was humping the other cats. She was a he, only had so much ground cover I could not see that. He is still a sweetie.

Happiness is a butterball. I got her right before getting Lucky, when I thought Mower was okay around cats, before we moved in together. She would chew on Lucky and make him cry with her sharp teeth, so much so that I actually asked a vet if we could file her teeth down. They didn't want me as a client after that. She hid under the bed, presumably to eat it after we left.