“Doing” Lorna’s Nails

The 8-pound elephant in our room.

“Snickerdoodle.” “Fluffernutter.” “Little Love Bite.”

Those are just a few of the nicknames for our youngest fur-kid: Lorna. Lorna Lou McGuinn. Two years, two months, and an absolute firecracker.

My husband and I adore Lorna, as we do her older “brothers,” Dooley, ten, and Conor, three. And they adore her, even though she taunts them relentlessly. We believe the boys love the attention from this scrappy, little beauty.

Possessed of seemingly endless energy and the spirit of a true vixen, Lorna rules our roost. Practically airborne, she races through the house, chasing the boys, her balls, any insects that have made their unfortunate way inside…and anything else that moves. She also loves to jump walls, door frames especially, and her vertical leaps are beyond impressive!

Lorna is loving and lovable. A gorgeous ball of fluff with eyes that know all and see all.

We adopted Lorna at a shelter event a little over two years ago. We had recently lost one of our beloved kitties and were brokenhearted, as were our remaining cats. Deciding that the best thing to do for all of us was to save another life and open our hearts to a new “baby,” we went for it.

There were so many precious kittens and cats waiting for forever homes. A litter of four kittens was brought to our attention: Three orange males and a cream-colored, medium-long-haired female. They had come from a foster environment which was a big plus, as they were already “socialized” and healthy.

As I was giving the bulk of my attention to the males, my husband cradled Lorna in his arms. I snuck peeks and could see that he was smitten.

Although I was as heartbroken as he over our recent loss, I wanted to do what I could to help heal that hurt, for him, so I told him our latest kitty could be one of his choosing.

“I want her,” my husband said, indicating the cream puff in his arms. “And that,” as they say, “was that.”

Here’s Lorna as a kitten. She had a habit of poking her little pink tongue out of her mouth.

We couldn’t be more thrilled with our decision as Lorna has, and does bring new life to our household, but, there’s this one little thing…

She doesn’t mean it, and most of the time, we believe that Lorna doesn’t know what she’s doing or why, but she bites. Not all the time, and never maliciously. She just becomes overstimulated and gets her crazy on.

We’ve come to know when she’s on the verge, so it’s not a big deal for us. In fact, I crack up every time she chases me and grabs me around the legs with her two front paws.

The problem lies in the fact that Lorna WILL NOT let us cut her nails. This has always been my hubby’s chore and he’s good at it. But, Lorna goes batshit crazy whenever we give it a shot. She scratches and bites and fights us to the point where we give up as we don’t want to hurt her. And, because my husband is on blood thinners, the merest scratch is a big deal for him.

Oh, we’ve tried. Trust me. Over and over again. Finally, we took her to the vet so that their techs, who one would think come across such cats time and again, could do the deed for us.

The first time, this is what transpired. We turned her over to the techs and sat in the front waiting room, happy that this “issue” was finally going to be solved for us.

Mere minutes later, a woman emerged from the back, with a thousand-yard stare on her face and a scratch on her arm. She thrust Lorna at us (in her carrier) like she was Anthrax.

“Couldn’t do it,” she said. We were incredulous. WHAT??

“Only got one paw,” she replied. “Couldn’t do it. We’re not charging you.”

OH, SHIT.

We waited a couple of weeks and then consulted with our vet. He recommended dosing her with Gabapentin, which is a muscle relaxant and anti-seizure med. Humans take it all the time and he assured us that it was safe for animals.

He gave us a dose in a syringe and told us to give it to her at least two hours prior to the “kitty mani.”

What he didn’t tell us was how in the friggin’ God to get it in her. Instead of putting the drug in food, I tried to administer in directly into her mouth.

Lorna struggled on my lap as if possessed. She clamped her jaws shut while I frantically tried to nudge the syringe in. Long story short, more of the Gaba landed in my lap than in her mouth, but the scary part was yet to come.

Lorna scrambled off my lap, ran a few feet and then started to drool. Copiously. To say I was “beside myself” is an understatement.

“I’VE MADE HER HAVE A SEIZURE!” Or, so I thought. I ran to her, heart thumping in my chest, and wiped the drool away. Quickly, she calmed down.

Lorna calmed down and Mommy headed straight for the Xanax.

More consults with the vet. We were going to try again, but this time, we would put the drug in her food and schedule an appointment for that same day.

I made sure to get up extra early so the drug would have time to take effect. I mixed it in with Lorna’s food, as we discussed. She sniffed and then quickly backed up.

“We’re fucked,” I thought.

Quickly, I opened a can of tuna and poured the water over her food, hoping that the strong smell would entice her to eat. It worked!

Now, came the wait. By the time our appointment rolled around, Lorna was definitely woozy. She looked at me with a “WTF did you give me,” flicker in her luminous eyes.

I felt guilty as hell, but it needed to be done.

We trundled off to the vet for our appointment, which also involved a general “wellness check” and rabies vaccination. After, our vet carried Lorna into the tech room to FINALLY have her nails clipped.

Three, maybe five minutes later, he’s back, Lorna once again in her carrier.

“We were able to get one paw and then she was done.”

My husband and I just looked at him. Mute. “Done?”

Our vet, who we’d been seeing for twenty years, looked about as sheepish as a kid caught looking at “dirty pictures” on his iPhone. Sheepish, and something else. Something akin to fearful.

What in the hell were we to do now? This little girl needed her nails done!

Our next option: A shot that would actually knock her out. We were told that the drug wouldn’t last long in her body, but we are reluctant to go that route.

We bought at least two “restraint bags” on Amazon. Neither came with instructions. I don’t suppose I need to tell you what it was like, trying to pack Lorna into these bags. For her size, she’s amazingly strong. Laila Ali on four legs.

Fuggedaboutit.

Next up: Cat clips. Purchased, once again, on Amazon. My husband read about them online. Apparently, they mimic the “scruffing” a mama cat gives her kittens when she picks them up by the neck, rendering them, (or so we hope) as limp as overcooked noodles.

We bought six.

Every single day, my husband and I look at one another and say, “We have to do Lorna’s nails.”

Uh-huh. Yep. We do.

I look at him. He looks at me. We both look at Lorna. And then, we go back to looking at “Years and Years” on TV.

Maybe, later today. Or, tomorrow. Yeah — tomorrow would be better.

Oh, Lordy. Lorna. We adore you. Talons, and all. But, won’t you please let us “do” your nails?

Addendum: Lorna is now four, but still won’t let us do her nails.

Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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