I did not grow up having heard of a lint roller, a genius device without which I now could not live.
It has become an indispensable part of my life owing to a decision Terry and I made way back in September 2007.
We went to the local humane society with the intention of bringing home a female cat, preferably a calico. Instead, we returned with two white male cats, whom we named after the Weasley twins from Harry Potter, Fred and George.
Happily, these two guys are still with us as they approach the ripe old age of 14. They are the oldest of our five cats and pretty much fixtures in our house.
Fred, in particular, is my buddy. He has slept at my side most every night since joining the family, and is just overall a good guy (if a bit overweight and off-puttingly fragrant at times).
As I type this post, I'm sitting in the computer chair in our room after George just spent time laying in it. I am wearing black pants.
The moment I get up, I guarantee you my butt will be covered in highly visible white cat hair.
Every article of clothing I own eventually gets covered in white cat hair. You don't notice it on light-colored garments, of course, but it really stands out on the dark stuff.
So I'm constantly lint-rollering my clothes, at least the parts of myself I can easily get to. There are almost always at least a few of these white hairs on my back.
It is in some way a small price to pay for two guys who have given us many years of love and joy, and hopefully many more to come. But if I had a nickel for every time someone pointed out the white cat hair on my clothes, well, I could probably buy a ticket for a first-run movie.
And nowadays, that's saying something.
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