Something icky happened to me when I went to get my hair tweaked. I had spent over two years growing it out from one of those god awful chop cuts the teens and some others get these days. You know where pieces of hair just hang in all different lengths. I am from an era of Romance. Gorgeous locks of thick sensual hair. No matter what age.
Without saying too much in case the wrong person (who cut my hair) might read this, I was so upset I went and self medicated by purchasing a very large. 6' paper mache, covered in leather, Giraffe I have since named Gerry. Thank God he was on sale for a reasonable price...
I did take into consideration Bob BMO might attempt to climb said Gerry the Giraffe. But the hairdo and loss of the long all one length two year growth was so overwhelming that I didn't care. If Bob BMO wanted to find his way to Gerry's back and lounge there, fine. Just no using him for a scratching tree.
I got Gerry home but not without some trouble. Putting a six foot Giraffe in a Honda CRV was a trick.
Then getting him out and up the elevator was another trick. With the help of the teeny tiny but strong neighbor girl, we got the job done. And then I waited and watched for any signs of Bob deciding to pull animal world hierarchy on Gerry. But Bob did nothing but stare at the monster in the sun room. Maybe it's his inner primal ancestor "bit cat," feeling at home in our jungle room.