I engaged in a 12-round fight today. One of my cats is long-haired. If she isn't brushed out she ends up grooming herself, and that leads to hairballs, and that is a genuinely revolting experience. So I'm quite determined to comb her out, especially during the spring which is when she sheds her thick undercoat. Natasha is equally determined to avoid being combed out. It's the Battle of the Species! In one corner, Cat-Mom, armed with fine-toothed comb and thick clothing. In the other, the contendah, Demonic Fluffball, armed with extremely sharp claws and teeth, not to mention a menacing growl and a devastating hiss.
Cat-Mom always wins the initial round, of course. The trouble is determining which hold will work to her advantage. There's the front half-grip, in which the front paws are immobilized for better tummy grooming, but this leaves Cat-Mom open to attack from the vicious kicking paws. There's the full body clench, but that makes combing out difficult since most of the pertinent areas are covered by arms, hands, and paws. There's the scruff-of-the-neck maneuver, a favored position, but one good twist and the contendah is free; a very tough hold to maintain.
Today, Cat-Mom won decisively, combing out enough fur to knit a jumper. However, the contendah was extremely vocal and yowled her displeasure in between attempts to disembowl Cat-Mom, claw her arms to ribbons, and other stealthy ninja tricks. Since both parties are good sports, they were soon sitting peacefully together at the feeding station, all animosity forgotten. Demonic Fluffball had crunchy cat food, and Cat-Mom had a Diet Coke. Tomorrow's fight: bathing the younger cat for the first time. Groan.