Most of us have seen, or at least heard of Siegfried and Roy, the great animal act in Las Vegas; if we’re a little older we may remember great movies about capturing wild animals like John Wayne’s “Hatari” or Fay Wray in the original and Jessica Lange in the remake of “King Kong.” Some of us grew up with the great Tarzan comic books and movies. The theme through all was man vs. beast, taming the wild, bonding with the savage force of nature. None of these tales of derring-do can hold a candle to the true life adventure of Herself, cat tamer.

Regular visitors to this space may recall that the other two residents of our house are two cats, Abigail and Simone, aka, “the Bad Girls of Brook Street;” adoptees as all our pets have been. Abigail Von Kitty, of the Duxbury Von Kitties, a kitty who’s fallen on hard times, and Simone, a tough girl from the streets, a kitty with a past, were adopted from The Healthy Pet down in Pembroke, on the Duxbury line after a real set up by our friend Trish who feels no household should be catless. Abigail was out of a job for terrorizing the family’s golden retriever and Simone was found living in a snow bank.

Abigail is a lithe nine-year-old with a beautiful tortoise shell colored coat. She has moves like an eel on speed and, though normally quite friendly, can hold her own in a tussle with any creature. Hence the need for a new home when we hired her on as boss cat. Simone is a pretty tiger, with a white face and paws. She is, how can we say this politely, quite Reubenesque. In fact, she is the size of a medium raccoon and can be just as feisty.

Herself runs a tight ship. All kitties will have neatly combed coats and regularly trimmed claws no matter what their attitude may be. For the Bad Girls of Brook Street pedicures are not high on the happy list and each time is an adventure. In these seek and capture operations Herself is the brains and your humble reporter is the muscle. Simone is relatively easy. We wait for her to doze off then grab her, lug her off to the bathroom, close the door to prevent escape and flop her across my lap so Herself can do the deed. I hold the cat under the front legs, hoist her up so she looks like a feline Hell’s Angel with ape hanger handle bars and Herself gets to cutting. Cat is not pleased, but accepting. When the operation is done she merely walks away with a grunt of disgust at the affront to her dignity.

Now the real death defying adventure begins with the capture and trimming of Miss Abigail. This cat is always on full alert. She knows when trimming time is come. I lurk in the shadows with a bath towel and Herself sneaks around like a Ninja warrior on the prowl. We negotiate the dining room table, we look under sofas and beds, we check the hat and scarf box in the hall closet, Herself never quits, always moving, always alert to any movement. Then she pounces, captures the wild cat and immediately hands her off to me to enshroud in toweling.

To trim claws one must expose claws. The trick is to do it in such a way that only one paw is out of the towel at a time. Herself is on the floor. I am in chair, cat is in lap and claws are out like Wolverine in the X-Men stories. Herself has fear on the inside, but stays steady and looks into the eyes of death as cat exudes pure kill-lust. (Hemmingway would have been proud of her.) With good nurse speed and precision Herself does the deed while franticly whispering “don’t let her loose, for God’s sake don’t let her loose.” The deed done I unwrap the cat, who is immediately forgiving, particularly if some horrible smelling canned cat food is close on. All is forgiven. Laps will soon be occupied by American domestic short hairs and we’re all set for another two weeks. And we didn’t get a dog because...