COWORKER HUMOR

The Great Christmas Party Debate

To declaw or not declaw

Our last office Christmas party was at a beautiful, high-end restaurant. The wine was flowing, people were into the holiday spirit, and the Italian server thought he was Luciano Pavarotti singing an aria from Verdi’s Rigoletto. I ordered the filet mignon and my coworker-friend the veal parmigiana. Having too much to drink, we talked about random things, like our boss’s crooked hairpiece, the cost of a bikini wax, and the people who declaw housecats.

“I love my orange tabby,” my friend said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Me, too,” I slurred. “My Russian Blue is my favorite person, I mean, the best animal. I couldn’t live without him.”

“Only the best for my cat,” said my friend. “There’s no expense when it comes to him.”

“Absolutely. There’s nothing too good for my pussy, I mean, my cat. I’d never get him declawed in a million years.”

“I don’t know why people do it?” asked my friend.

“Me, either. If only people knew how brutal it is. They cut off the poor kitty’s front knuckles. It screws up their gait, and they walk cockeyed. My vet said he’d die before declawing a cat in his office.”

“He must really care.”

“Yeah, he says it’s like cutting off our fingers and toes,” my friend said.

“I know. Just trim the cat’s nails once a week. It won’t kill you.”

My friend stood up, a bit shaky, and showed me how he clips his cat at home, and I shared a few of my little feline pointers as I sat cross-legged on the floor.

“I tuck him under my armpit and have his hindquarters up in the air. Then I get the clipper and go over each nail, making sure not to clip the red part; that’s where all the nerves are.”

“Me, either. They cut off the poor kitty’s front knuckles. It screws up their gait and they walk cockeyed.”

One of our coworkers from the United Kingdom looked pissed off. We must have inadvertently offended him during our cat discussion.

“I believe in declawing cats!” he growled, slamming down his glass of Prosecco. He towered over us like John Cleese, with a clump of nose hair sticking out of his nostrils. I thought he would kick one of us in the jaw with his pointed alligator boots.

“If I didn’t declaw the bugger, he’d ruin the expensive sofa we bought from Williams Sonoma. And my dearie would have a fit!”

We didn’t tell him that they have banned declawing in many countries, and here in the U.S., the Humane Society opposes it except for rare medical cases.

My friend kept filling my wine glass.

“We’re not saying you’re awful for removing the claws from a cat, Bill, although it’s quite barbaric, especially from the cat’s point of view. We are saying it’s much more humane to clip their nails.”

We felt our coworker’s wrath for the rest of the evening, which triggered laughing spells on our part. The thought of this pompous man getting so angry at our position on declawing a cat seemed hysterical, even if he was valiantly defending his wife’s new sofa.

We laughed like hebephrenics, and if it weren’t for the flaming Bananas Foster, we’d still be in hysterics. After dessert, we had a few more glasses of vintage red wine, thanked our generous boss for dinner, and told him we were looking forward to the next Christmas party.

“We’re not saying you’re an awful person for removing the claws from a cat, Bill, although it’s quite barbaric, especially from the cat’s point of view.”

At work the following Monday, there was no mention of our feline conversation at the Christmas party. Instead, many of us were busy in our cubicles, including our British coworker, Bill, who had a pile of paperwork to process. In the light of the office, we noticed that Bill had extra-long fingernails. For much of the day, my friend and I discussed whether we should declaw Bill or not.

© 2021 Mark Tulin

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