One glance at my apartment floor, and you could never tell that a vacuum had been in the neighborhood, let alone run; a certain intrepid quadruped has occupied himself by blanketing the area with the allergenic remnants of his fur. The shedding never slackens in pace, regardless of the weather - one would think that he would be interested in keeping his outer coat during colder times, but that is a mistake of common sense. Current brushing does a pitiful job of combating the fur problem, so I solicited the advice of my feline-owning sister, who recommended getting a rubber brush. While running errands yesterday, I stopped by Pet World on a whim to look for it.

Pet World does not carry this particular brush. Instead, they offer what I now refer to as the Ultimate Destroyer of Dandered Fur:

They don’t beat around the bush with names.

“I’d really recommend this,” said the Pet World Employee. “This is the first thing I recommend to everyone getting a new cat, or looking for a good brush. It really takes off all the dander.”

“Yes,” I said, looking at the box skeptically, “but…does it take off the skin too? I don’t really want him that clean.”

“No, no,” said the employee, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort that the word “blade” elicits in an overly protective pet owner. “Actually, a rubber brush is probably more likely to hurt the cat, because it grabs at the skin.”

“Seriously? It’s kind of, uh…intense looking.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a bigger one than this that I use on my cat. He loves the shedding blade.” She added that I could hang on to the receipt, and return the product if I was unsatisfied. I’m not sure if the return would still be accepted with bits of mangled, terrified cat dripping from the serrated teeth of the shedding blade, but I figured I’d give it a shot.

And you know what? It works! Never before have I had a brush that removed dead fur so efficiently, and Quark’s coat now looks glossy and well-cared for. He actually tolerates the shedding blade much longer than the inferior plastic brush I had been using, though he did make me a bit nervous when he started rubbing his face against the tiny metal teeth. The metal does a good job attracting the fur, possibly due to some combination of static electricity and voodoo magic, and fur removal is relatively easy.

One important lesson I have gleaned from this product: never judge by names. Next time, I might give the Projectile Pet Fountain a try, maybe the Carpet Bomb Scratching Post, or perhaps even the Recycled IED Litter (for multiple cat households)!

Private space was not always an issue for me. Back when I was working in the dungeon that is the basement of Strong Hall, we had precious little of this luxury. My only moments of freedom were gleaned from hanging out with my inveterate smokasaurus co-workers during periodic breaks. Certainly I couldn’t listen to music, or browse every last corner of the internet, without co-workers glancing over at what I was doing every now and then - even if I had the time.

This current job has quite spoiled me; now I command a large range of space. The space incorporates my desk, three feet to the side and immediately behind it. Should this inner sanctum be violated, I become extremely agitated. Alas, this is often the case.

There is the one professor who, though always very nice and considerate (she gave me a plant for New Year’s, currently withering away under the ministrations of my black thumb), has a habit that very much raises my hackles. Whenever she needs the keys to get to something, instead of bothering me by asking (which I’d actually prefer), she just walks behind my desk, opens the drawer with the keys in it, and just starts rifling through it. Cannot a girl waste idle time at work browsing non-work-safe hobo tentacle porn in peace? Quite seriously, she did this an hour ago, right when my computer speakers were playing the last strains of Kate Bush’s “Get Out of My House” (featuring Satanic hee-hawing. I love the song, but, like blue cheese, it’s certainly not for everyone, especially intrepid nosy professors).

Then, there is the professor who, though also perfectly polite and considerate in his own way to me, has the classical poindexter voice. He is the one who incorporates words like “stridently” and “assiduously” in departmental memos about curriculum changes. He is also a habitual violator of the no-loiter-zone directly behind my desk. He did so the other day, and just stared at my screen. Nothing was up except Winamp (drat the lack of NWS hobo tentacular display when it is sorely needed!), and he volunteered some minor chitchat about music players before finally vacating the sacred space.

Oddly enough, I think the lax nature of the work environment here has actually made me less easy-going about certain things. One of these days, I might get so defensive that I’ll start hissing and snarling, like my cat when he’s been petted for a second too long for his delicate composition

My attitude might be attributable to the sheer bulk and girth of my massive wooden desk - fostering delusions of grandeur and authority, in an otherwise humble profession.