Maybe it's because I don't brush my hair. I can't. If I did, every single hair would vibrate electric independence, reaching for the wide world beyond my head. The halo would whack the sides of the doorways when I walk through.
And, of course, we have three cats.
We brush them whenever we think about it. Each brushing yields wads of soft kitty-fur clogging the brush and comb. Even so, we don't brush enough because it's impossible to brush enough; a full-time brusher working 16 hour days, no break for Sundays, couldn't brush them enough.
But I quit feeling bad about the excess house-hair last month when I realized we could donate it. So now I snatch up our sheddings and trot outside to add it to the latest handful of dried wiregrass stems, then tuck the bunch into a crotch of a tree.
The neighbors drop by before the day is out and collect it for their new homes.
And everyone is happy.
Copyright 2009-2010 Kathleen Scott ,for Hill Country Mysteries. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.