As it turns out, my trip into Ipswich on Monday was well worth it. Shortly before getting stuck in the first of my two major traffic jams, I went into Pets at Home (which isn't anywhere near my home at all) and invested a frankly ridiculous amount of money in a set of electric cat clippers.

Well ok, they're actually dog clippers, but my cat doesn't know that. I'd previously tried attacking her with a pair of scissors, but it just didn't give the desired effect (despite being quite therapeutic), so I decided it was time to go electric.

It was definitely the right decision. Here she was relaxing yesterday morning on the back of the sofa, blissfully unaware of the frenzied attack she was about to be subjected to...



And after 24 hours of intensive clipping, and one shower with kitten shampoo (her, not me), here she is this afternoon, looking decidedly pleased (and not completely traumatised at all) with her new haircut...



She's now the size of a guinea pig, and I keep coughing up cat hairs, but I think she looks quite stylish. It's the kind of look which says "Look out summer, here I come!". Or alternatively, "Where did my fur go?". But all the same, I'm quite pleased with it. I bet Crash n Donna are sorry they didn't take me up on my offer to cut their daughter's hair now.

And may I say I'm quite proud to have got all the way to the end of this post without once using the phrase 'shaving my pussy'.