The ridiculous lion cut Lucy had to undergo due to unfortunate dreadlock growth (they were so 1970s), the very cut that made me burst into tears when Mr. Candy released her from the kitty carrier and she darted across the room looking like a rat with furry boots, has been the most liberating thing to happen to Lucy since learning that kitty treats do not go directly to her thighs. (Must be nice to have a youthful metabolism, I tell ya.) I was afraid she would lock herself in the bedroom, screaming MY LIFE IS RUINED! — as, um, somebody else in this house has been known to do (*AHEM* Mr. Candy) — but no…! With her new streamlined ‘do, Lucy prances around the house with a sassy attitude, earning herself the nickname “Lucy Fierce.” Or, as Skye calls her, “Lu Lu,” right before giving her a kiss. (Yeah, she and the cats are sickeningly cute together. Just never when I have a camera in my hand. Of course.) Lucy Fierce is so full of herself now that she has taken over our bed — Mr. Candy and I are reduced to sleeping on the sides of the mattress, holding on for dear life (not an easy feat when eight months pregnant) — and chases Marcy, more than twice as big as she is, around the house. Fifteen-pound Marcy invariably ends up hiding from her ferocious six-pound sister. So ferocious, in fact, that I’m certain she just wants to give Marcy a wet willy or snuggle together for a nap.
“I am embarrassed for you,” Mr. Candy told Marcy upon finding her tentatively peeking out from behind the curtains to make sure the coast was clear.
“As am I for you,” Marcy told us upon finding us sleeping on the floor while Lucy Fierce sprawled across our Tempur-Pedic, the remote control in one furry boot, InStyle magazine in the other.
The power of the lion cut: who knew?