the Fur Apocalypse: yeah, that's a thing

Spring is in the air! Or...no. That's just fur. Gobs and gobs of fur. It's like someone has set the dog on fire and instead of smoke, she's producing...fur.

Lila's fur is incredibly versatile, as fur goes. Because she's got a brindle coat, not to mention a big chest spot pure and white as the wings of a baby angel, she has the ability to make anything you're wearing look like it was hand-picked for you by crazy cat-ladies.

This is Lila at a recent Tucson Roller Derby/Humane Society dog wash fundraiser.
She got washed and she got a bandana and she got  traumatized.

She also left half her weight in fur at the bar where all this took place.

Good luck with that next health inspection, suckers!

Her brindle fur is particularly horrific because each piece of brindle fur is comprised of at least two colors and often three. So every single piece of fur she sheds (which comes out to, like, twenty-five thousand every three seconds) shows up on every single piece of clothing you own. White t-shirts don't stand a chance because a third of each piece of fur is black. Indigo-washed skinny jeans? Might as well burn them now since a third of each piece of fur is white. And the remaining third of each piece of brindle fur, the seemingly innocuous brown section, basically covers all the other bases. We're talking the bedsheets. The towels. The rugs. Your food.

Fur Exhibit #1.

Fur Exhibit #2.

You can't escape by going outside either, because there are little clumps of fur rolling all over the yard like adorable tumbleweeds. They get stuck in the cactuses and just kind of hang out on the patio, playing cards and drinking vodka. Or whatever it is fur does when it's at the point in its evolution where it's formed clumps large and complex enough to be developing their own brain cells and political biases.

In fact, you can't escape at all, because if you run, the fur will rise up to entangle your ankles. You'll fall to the ground and the fur will surround you softly like a cloud or a pile of babies. At first, you'll feel warm and kind of fluffy and sleepy. That's how the fur gets you to trust it.

Then it smothers you.

Fur Apocalypse Update: GUYS. Proof that I'm not exaggerating about the magnitude of this fur problem: I just found fur in my cheese*. And I'm not even at home. I'm at work, almost seven miles away from my dog who is presumably at home playing chess. With Professor Fur.

*Not a euphemism. But should be.