paw nails

lepetitselkie  asked:

My father has been getting on my ass about my cats. They're both clawed and despite many toys, 2 cat trees and 6 cardboard scratchers their claws tend to be rough on furniture and my skin. My father says I'm wasting money by putting soft paws nail caps on them & that they should be declawed. He even said that soft paws are damaging! Am I doing the right thing?

Hell yes you’re doing the right thing. Declawing is mutilation (because it’s literally amputating a joint on each toe) and cats are often in pain their entire lives. Soft paw nail caps are expensive and a pain and the cats might think they’re annoying, but they’re by far the better choice. Props to you for standing up to him about it. 

Nailed Down

You may have heard of the Purple Paw Thievery? Small, brightly colored rabbits that live in Autumn’s Lost Wood, a magical forest just outside the tiny, haunted village, Peyroux.

By way of introduction: the Paws love to steal. They love. To. Steal. And will steal pretty much anything. They can steal a shadow from a paladin standing at attention in front of a shrine, and if you look away long enough, they’ll steal the shrine too.

One of their greatest capers came after locating a hardware store owned by a part time super hero. A group of the Paws walked through the front door, stacked together in a trench coat (stolen). A hat completed the odd ensemble, and despite the fact they were the size of three or four rabbits and not that of a human being, they felt it to be a convincing disguise. It was not. Nor was it lost to the store owner that the “customer’s” wallet was a shaped like a head of cabbage and the money smelled strongly of cilantro. The fact that a paw, and not a hand, slid the money across the counter was not suspicious, but that is largely because there are all manner of monsters that need home repair supplies. Some folk have hands, others paws, still others tentacles.

A group of the Paws walked through the front door, stacked together in a trench coat (stolen).

So while there was a pile of Paws paying for pins, nails, screws, and other fasteners, the rest of the guild set about robbing the store. Half or so built various distracting machines to keep the shop owner and other customers from noticing the other half digging tunnels and securing the store’s inventory. Hardware stores, it should be noted, are valuable targets because you can use your purloined products to secure even larger pieces. It was in this way that the core group of Paws cleaned out the inventory while the trench coat crew asked questions about drywall, spackle, the difference between screwdriver shapes, and how keys were made.“W-wait a second!” the shopkeep shouted, at long last, as he looked  up from his key cutting machine. He recognized, a bit too late, that  he was duplicating his own house key. And that his shop was gone.

“Wh-what the?!” The reader will forgive, please, an absent minded hero.

Though we are on opposite sides of the alignment bridge, I cannot fault him for falling for the adorable methods the Paws use to elude attention. They are masters at deception, illusion, and fuzziness.The shop owner stared, awestruck, into the neighborhood. His entire shop had been stolen. A final standing wall fell, leaving nothing but a closed door, leading to and from nowhere. The shelves were gone, all of the tools and accouterments were taken, most of the floor was nowhere to be found.

The official police report read, accurately, “Not a single nail was spared, not a screw could be located. Had our station not utilized many of the services at Hero Hardware, we would not be able to accurately say a store had ever existed on this spot.”

unnnqualified replied to your photoset “Here’s what would (probably) happen if these dorks volunteered at a…”

They’re not actually taking the claws out right??? Isn’t that bad?? I’m sorry I’m a spoilsport :(


To trim a cat’s nails you must first make the claw stick out, which they keep tucked upwards in their paw.  They’re different from dog paws, where the nails are always out.  Trimming the very tip of the nail when it grows too long is the equivalent of trimming the tip of your own nails, not permanently removing the whole thing.  

Here is what a cat’s foot looks like normally.  The claw is pulled upwards by contracting the ligament, so it doesn’t get dull while the cats walk.  Cats need them sharp for hunting!  (I’m talking about all members of the cat family here)

Here is what the paw looks like when the claw is out and the ligament is extended.

A cat’s claw grows out of the last knuckle of their paw and contain nerves and blood vessels.  Removing a cat’s claws (aka declawing)  is the equivalent of amputating the last knuckle of your finger, so I do not recommend it. 

(Note:  I graduated college with a degree in biology with an emphasis in ecology and conservation.  My first job out of college was a zookeeper intern, then after my internship I worked in the education and conservation department of that zoo.  So I know a thing or two about animals.)  ^_~

(Images courtesy of

anonymous asked:

hand hcs for characters of ur choice? (e.g. cold hands, do they maintain their nails/use lotion, long fingers, etc)

Chuuya has long and slender fingers, covered in callouses. His nails are clipped short, so that he doesn’t hurt himself fighting. He puts on lotion regularly, in order to keep his skin from drying out and/or cracking. 

Dazai has bony fingers. They have small scars, but are mostly unharmed. His nails are long. They tend to be cold, but they don’t feel so to him. He very rarely puts on lotion unless someone makes him, but his skin is still very soft.

Atsushi has tiny hands. You know in 50% Off, with their tiny baby hands? Atsushi has lil baby hands. Luckily, they’re teeny and he can reach into small holes and grab things, but they’re teeny as hell. Ironic, considering they turn into paws. His nails are jagged from biting them out of anxiety.

Akutagawa has bony, cold hands. They’re scarred and calloused from years of neglect. Chuuya tried to do clean dirt off of them once, and they started bleeding, they were so dry. He can’t touch anything delicately. He’s too used to roughing others up. Except the kitten he will one day get. That kitten is his baby.

anonymous asked:

Hi Dr. Ferox. I have a question in regard to the ethics of the procedures declawing/ear cropping. A veterinarian I worked with explained to me that she will declaw a cat because she fears that if she does not do it herself, the owner will find a way to have it done, and that way may not be through a licensed veterinarian. Do you think denying people such a "service" may lead to the animal being harmed by unlicensed people attempting to do it themselves? What can be done about this? Thank you.

I seriously hope there isn’t some layperson going around chopping off the last bone of a cat’s toes because a veterinarian declined to do it. If that is happening, both the owner seeking the procedure and the non-veterinarian should be heavily prosecuted for animal cruelty and performing acts of veterinary medicine without a license.

Originally posted by softly-satanic

Some vets will reluctantly agree to perform declawing of cats as a last resort because they feel that they understand just how much pain the cat will be in and use a higher quality analgesia protocol than another vet might. They feel that if it’s going to be done somewhere, it might as well be done by them with practiced surgical technique and the best quality pain relief available.

They may also believe that the cat will be rehomed, abandoned or euthanised due to not being declawed, and that therefore performing the procedure effectively saves the cat’s life. I think this belief is false, as the procedure is illegal here in Australia with no difference in the oversupply of cats. If someone is going to surrender their cat, they will do so. If they don’t have the surgical declawing option, which they perceive as an ‘easy’ solution, they are more likely to pursue a better compromise like soft paws or regular nail trimming.

Ear cropping is a little different in that it is a 100% cosmetic procedure with zero medical benefit for the dog. It’s only done for human aesthetics because somewhere along the line dog breeders decided that surgically altering a dog’s ears to the desired shape was easier than breeding them that way. It should be banned and universally condemned. If you want a breed with straight ears, then breed them to have straight ears. No breed should require surgery to ‘look right’.

Cat declawing, dog ear cropping and dog tail cropping are banned in Australia without a specific medical intervention, as it should be. Dog breeds that were traditionally docked and cropped have had no downturn in popularity, no increase in injury, and more and more breed clubs have banned surgically altered dogs from being shown. These are steps in the right direction.

If somebody attempts to dock tails or crop ears at home, they can be prosecuted for animal cruelty and I have had no hesitation in reporting them in the past. When I graduated the ban had only just come into effect, and many old school ‘breed enthusiasts’ were moaning about it. They complained that ‘young vets these days didn’t really understand dogs’ and similar such nonsense. They’ve had to get over it, and dogs get to keep their natural ears and tails as a result. Interestingly, Rottweilers in general seem much more confident with tails.

As veterinarians we are supposed to promote good animal welfare. That’s what started us on this path, right? Most (all?) professional veterinary associations condemn declawing, ear cropping and tail docking.

If we don’t decline to do unnecessary cosmetic surgery, then public opinion will never change, and the demand will never lessen. We owe it to the countless future dogs and cats yet to be born to speak out against these practices. This it why even if they were legal down here, I would personally refuse to do them.

(As a side note, desexing is entirely different. Desexing has a proven medical and social benefit, and is only soft tissue surgery compared to a partial amputation or cutting away cartilage. Far less pain, far more benefits.)

Neil Josten wears nail polish

•since it’s already been established Neil Josten gives -7 shits, especially about gender norms

•the next time Nicky forces him on a shopping trip, he wanders into the makeup section

•and wow the amount of nail polish available

•so many colors, some are crackly, some are glittery, theres even some that come with pearls and tiny flowers attached

•neil immediately buys black bc he knows its the only 1 Andrew can be convinced into wearing

•and like 7 shades of orange, for all the big games of the season 

•and it becomes tradition for the team to paint their nails before games

•Kevin allows him to paint like 1 (one) pinky 

•Matt is super enthusiastic about it, and him and Dan match together

•Allison paints tiny lil paw prints on Renee’s nails

•Aaron mysteriously disappears during their manicure sessions, but at the first game, it turns out he got Katelyn and the Vixens to match so all is forgiven

•The foxes basically become iconic for their nails, and it becomes the norm for cameras to zoom in on the nails when they come out to warm up before putting on their gloves

”the foxes are back at it, smashing Exy rackets and gender norms”

The Path of The Right

[Please note the huge trigger warning on this imagine!]

Anon asks:

Can you make a Carl Grimes imagine where the reader is suicidal?

Anon asks:

Can you make a Carl imagine where the reader is hating herself and finds herself ugly ,and Carl show / tells her , maybe some smut too?

The Path of The Right

In a certain motived way, tangerine-summer licked kisses didn’t spark up lividly anymore and instead created a sharp-knifed air to my throat. A man running around with leather clad shoulders with a razor sharp weapon resting upon them spoke out words which were heavier than the weight of the world for Atlas. He stroked my cheek, called me pretty names with straight white teeth while grinning wide towards my citrus pecked lover.

The touch of his glove, the linger of his finger imprints somehow tattooing itself in invisible ink on my red cheek. It felt as if the strongest chemical acid wouldn’t be able to burn off the mark that brought up the ghosts in between the walls at night to haunt my night sleep. I sat on the end of our bed, now with a mark on my cheek and millions of scars from battles inside and outside my head. All filled with unspeakable horrors and despairs.

My feet were cold. Resting on the patch of the matrass where neither Carl or me warmed the fabric with body heat. A faint smell idled around the room of burned wood and charcoal, the flames that were making the room a shade of orange long gone. I crossed my arms and held on to my upper arms, refusing to give in to the chilled air and crawl back underneath the feather filled duvet.

“Babe?” I heard from behind me. Shit. My fingers hurriedly sprung to my cheeks, aggressively rubbing my cheek angry scarlet to cover up that invisible mark. I didn’t reply to him and continued staring at the burnt out fireplace. He said my name, sharper and vigorous. The blanket crinkling dully and a hand barely touching my skin. He waited, contemplating whether to crawl the hand around my arm or lay it over the texture of my spine between my shoulder blades. His fingers ended up taking loose strands of hair.

“Go to sleep,” he said, firmly. A hint of devastation lingering in his tone. A feel of déjà vu messing with my head, too many nights already having the same quotation. It starting off with a soft question and slowly blending in to be a demand. It hurt to see bags forming underneath his eyes. His hand slowly left my hair, and I instinctively leaned back to the bed. Letting Carl wrap the blanket around me and feeling him kiss my clean cheek. I didn’t want to poison him with the bad embedded ink on my other.

Tomorrow, I thought. Yes, tomorrow sounded better.

There’s a suffocating smell of cigarettes burning my nose when I slowly awaken the next morning. Daryl must’ve went in our room. Carl’s heavy cologne suppresses the smoke away, even though he isn’t in the room anymore. It’s become quite the daily routine, waking up to an empty bed. I know he is out to talk to someone, or helping someone. As long as he wasn’t reminded of Hadus lying in his bed, spitting pomegranate seeds everywhere as infected promises.

I look out the window, hoping to spot him somewhere. He’s there, showing Judith the world covered in mystery white. Thick, white snowflakes landing in their hair as she tries desperately to catch them in the steady arms of her brother. Slowly I get up from bed, my hands gripping the windowsill and my nails digging in the hard stone. I see him glancing up, the smile on his lips by watching his sister dropping just slightly. He looks back to her and helps catch the damned snowflakes while putting his laugh back up.

The drop of his laugh knocks everything out of my ribs. I back away from the window as if it turned into one of those monstrous things out there or even just Negan, a brick wall suddenly resting on my chest. I can’t breathe, God I couldn’t breathe. My lungs violently attacking my body, going faster and faster. I run for the bathroom, dropping on the ground in front of the porcelain toilet and heaving. Tears were mixing with snot and I kick the door closed behind me. If Carl didn’t want to look at me then he sure won’t want to now.

The noise of the door hitting the lock drowns out my hearing to a white noise static. I’m crying, at least, I realise that I am.  There’s a block in my throat and I can’t seem to swallow it away. Instead choking on it like it were Carl’s muttered words of comfort after that night I lost the respect toward my own self.

When my body stops bringing out electrocuting like shocks I slowly stand up. My knees shaking and my toes numb to the white tiles on the floor. On my right there’s a mirror, I turn my head left to look down over my shoulder instinctively, until I don’t. The cold air stings my lungs as if it were horned when I breathe in, looking right to see what I believed was the most horrific monster in this world.

“Gosh, this one is fuckin’ pretty! How do you keep that hidden from the shitty ass world Rick?”

My eyes are set inflamed, swollen with angry wet marks. Cheekbones and collarbones stood out as if touching them would cut the finger through flesh. Lips bitten and for the first time not from stickily sweet secret car rides that ended up with steaming windows or honey touched rendezvous between the sheets. There’s a wound from a knife running past the flesh and the metal taste suddenly breaks through my taste buds.

It’s not until I fully have turned my body towards the glass I dare to look at it. It’s scratched open and angry red nails from clawing are portraying a scar like a werewolves nailed paw. There’s irritation around the striping wounds screaming on what was my even skinned toned complex. It’s a hopeless remedy like a bandage against the aggression of a bleeding wound.

“It’s not your job to hide her I see, oh, I definitely see.”

And then he was touching me. His hand felt like the sting of a needle, my skin reacting as if it were allergic. Screaming and panicking and burning, he felt my cheek, oblivious to the blood thrumming in my veins and my skin scorching like a fire at hand. He was tattooing me as if we were young teenagers drunk on sugary sweet love doomed to end rotten-teethed.

It was wrong. It was like reading a book the opposite way and expecting to understand the words. It was like eating the wrong fruit in the wrong season. He was the false promise on the candy floss we used to buy. Lingering and burning to wipe Carl’s touch away like bleach to a stain. Laughing and pulling my lip down with his thumb, cracking the skin open to a minuscule wound.

My hand fell on the sink, tapping the water open and letting it run as hot as I could after chugging it messily. My throat and head protesting wildly and vocally when my hands turned a sickly coloured red under the stream. A loud searing voice in my own head telling its desire to drown my thoughts away in it. For the first time no panic swelled up to swallow the thought away, as if it were the daily kiss and good morning to give and say.

The cupboard is empty, it’s always empty. Ever since him everything around us is disappearing. Or Carl is hiding things, I don’t know. My hands are resting on the mirror, leaving handprints in cooled off water droplets in their wake. Slipping off abruptly when there’s a deafening knock on the door, my wrist catching and clinking on the porcelain of the sink. I curse loudly and the knock repeats, louder this time.

“Babe?” I try to reply, telling him the door is unlocked but my throat is clenching and stitching itself closed. The second time he calls for me it’s more panicked and for some reason my heart races and pumps panic throughout my veins, as if I’m doing something morally wrong. He storms in and I’m still clutching my wrist, his eyes go wide.

“What did you do?” He hisses, his eyes blank as empty mirrors. He steps closer to me like a snake threatening his kill with baring venomous teeth.

“First you scratch open your cheek, then you do this? You expect me to keep ignoring it?” He doesn’t speak in soft tones anymore, raising his voice a tone close to breaking my eardrums. My head as sensitive after a night drinking and sleeping together.

“Nothing I-,” I’m stuttering and acting like Judith when she’s caught with a hand full in the candy box. He glares at me, his usual gray eyes filled with red ablaze anger.  “I swear, Carl, I didn’t do anything –I swear, please,” I release my wrist and lean against the counter, my hands covering my eyes with a broken up mantra lacing my tongue. My legs dancing on their own accord.

His mouth was moving, my ears were clogged. He’s saying something, mumbling or yelling, I didn’t know. I felt myself sink to the ground, an arm wrapping around my waist and a sudden warmth attaching on my side. He kissed my cheek, all wet and noisily I let myself believe, just like he always does.

“Hey, hey,” His lips were moving against my cheek, ignoring the wet tears disrupting his words of comfort. It was like he forcibly pulled my head from a water tank, put all his weight on my chest so I could breathe again. “Calm down, it’s okay, I was wrong,” He shushed me and whispered my name. His fingertips stroking me with their rough, callused pads.

“Carl,” I sobbed out, resting my head on his shoulder and letting him wrap his arms around me. His hands strong upon my back, gripping and tugging on the fabric of my cotton shirt. “I’m so-,” I swallowed against his neck, “I’m so weak Carl, he touched me, made me so ugly- God, I’m so ugly. It’s there, it’s always there no matter how hard I try to remove it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-,”

“What? That’s, bullshit,” He pulled back, my heart aching with my body when his warmth was stolen away from me. “You’re so pretty, you’re the prettiest fucking person I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he said, staring with harsh force in my own eyes.

“That’s what he said too,” I replied with my tongue thick and my throat stuck in my own goddamn pity. I was waiting for Carl to lash out, on edge as he was. “Negan, that’s what he said to me too. He called me all fucking pretty, Carl.”I spit out my words.

“No, sweet, no,” His hands moved towards my neck, his fingers braiding in the warmth of my hair. He pulled ever so slightly to make the hairs on my arms prickle upwards. “You’re so beautiful on the inside too, seeing you with Judith,” he looked down and grinned, “I see you with Judith and I just feel it you know? I just feel that I love you, I know I do, but feeling it is- it’s so much more.”

I smiled, all snot with teeth. My hair was stuck on my cheeks and wet because of tears. A blush suffuses on my neck and I knew I looked like a mess. But for the first time it felt like it was okay. It was fine because Carl promised me and told me all with cherry blossoms around his heart. His hand moved away from my neck again, and slowly hovered over the wounds on my cheek. Fingertips barely making contact as he solemnly concentrates on every bump and dip. I let him and stare up towards his focused eyes, all light and soft without a hint of harm.

“I love you,” He whispers before leaning in, his arm wrapping around my neck and leaving my cheek alone to heal. I didn’t reply and it didn’t feel like I had to, the air suddenly too hot and my knees not stuck anymore on a tiled ground. My hands flew for his waist, holding on as if he’d disappear when he finally kissed me. So soft with a blush staining the full of his cheeks.

His touch reminded me of our summer rides, alone and in secret. Warm sweat and softer moans to break the radio silence, his lover giggles whenever he indulged me to ask for more. Fingers twined in brown curls and belt buckles cling like a gun starts a marathon. His breath as gentle as his hands, stripping off clothing as if the fabric was as fragile as the wound on my cheek. It reminds me of campfires, Sunday barbeques with smiles, laughs and tanned skin.

My fingers played in his shirt as I rose up slowly, the both of us on our knees as he kissed harder. Rougher as if I’d provide him fresh air. He pulls back and clenches his jaw, I clench my fist as a fire plays around our stomachs. He looks at me and it doesn’t seem as innocent as before. Pupils blown wide as his gray is replaced with noir. He stares into my eyes as he slowly lowers his hands to the swell of my butt, grabbing as he pulls me up to my feet with him. A gasp escaped my throat and I feel blood rushing in my ears.

He pulls me closer to his body, eyes big and mouth agape. Slowly rolling my shirt up my skin, the soft cotton caressing and tickling me. I pull back to raise my arms, closing my eyes and feeling the cold air hitting the flesh of my back, stomach and breasts. Carl’s hands are stroking over my waist rapidly, roughly rubbing up and down as if he were to savour me. His nails dent half-moons in me and I moan the stars towards the whole empty sky when he presses me against him. He deserved all the stars I could give him.

I grip his shoulders hastily as he begins kissing down my throat. Warm lips and hot breaths making me inhale sharply as I arch my back, letting him pass the depression of my collarbones and the valley of my sternum between my breasts. He wraps his arms around me as he slowly licks his way back up, hands splayed wide against my back and ribs.

“Yeah?” He asks, lust filled and thickly laced on his voice. I nod, at this point following him everywhere. “Yeah, okay, c’mon,” He whispers, latching his mouth onto my neck and creating the galaxy to grip me around my throat. Backing up and I feel his arms tightening around me, making sure I won’t fall.

He led me straight to bed, laying me down on the soft rugs. Climbing over me in a fast and breath stopping motion. Immediately making his name a song like melody when he kissed back over my breasts. His tongue barely grazing my nipple and distracting me from the fact that his hands were placed on the rim of my underwear. I whined in disapproval. His shirt had to go first.

He laughed against my stomach, pearly white teeth blinding me. His brown curls falling in front of his sight, until he leaned back to drop the shirt on the ground. When he climbed back up between my legs the friction of his jeans pressed between my legs. He kissed me and bit my bottom lip with those pearly teeth, gasping and breathing harshly and violently in the cold, bitter air. I giggled.

Hence, before I knew it, both of our pants or undergarments met the floor. He spoke a promise with every breath he let out in my ear, my hand as his lifeline to hold on to so tightly. His lips were swollen and bitten and with every move he did the air in my lungs was knocked out. His hand telling languages between my legs I had yet to learn.

When reaching his climax, he looked down at me as if I were Aphrodite sprawled on his sheets. Mouth agape and eyes blown and yet, he looked as if I wasn’t real. The word love stuck on his tongue like some proclamation, forced to spit out his vow over and over. I could only laugh, the world felt like summer and he smelled like old cars and tangerine once more.

“I love you so much,” I whispered when reaching my own, arching my back under his hands and feeling him touch my backbone. He kissed down my neck, rapidly with his swollen lips and tongue from promising me. I was his, I was his and he didn’t have to claim me with poisonous leather-clad ink. Only with his summer kissed lips and golden brown locks.

I was his.


[I don’t know how I feel about this one, the transitions to scenes felt kind of awkward. Eh not my best!]