The cat formerly known as Dweezil crossed his paws in front of his chest and eyed Squig up and down, assessing his look.
"Well," he finally said, "your lady cat certainly wasn't exaggerating your lack of style. In fact I can see that she was down playing the situation. You are," he continued circling, around Squig with a predatory swagger, "as well as being a slob and a hot mess, completely out of style. But we can fix that.
"Oh you can, can you," Squig shot back. "Well did anybody tell you that my "lady cat," is very quickly going to find herself in the nut house if all of this crap doesn't come to a screaming stop."
"My, my," Dweezil tut tutted, "she did warn me that you might be recalcitrant and stuck in your ways, but I assured her that I have dealt with situations like this and I can certainly deal with you." And with that, before Squig had time to react, Dweezil slammed him into a chair and belted him down. Then with a dramatic flourish he wrapped an apron around Squig's neck, tightening it the the point Squig could hardly breathe. Next, he pressed down on each paw, until Squig extended his claws and tied them down.
"Be right back," he sang out as Squig squiggled and squirmed in his chair. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Dweezil was the looney who should be strapped in a straight jacket, not him. He was the sane one. How had this gone wrong and what on earth was he going to do about it.
But, he did not have long to ponder his problem, as Dweezil arrived, humming a cheerful tune and pushing a cart full of fur dressing accessories. Before Squig had time to say what the ...... Dweezil pounced and commenced gluing, teasing, curling, shaving and painting. Then he sprayed Squig from head to tail with some kind of horrible perfumed shellac. Stepping back to admire his work, he said "Oh if you aren't the picture of style now. Let me go and get a mirror and show you how wonderful you look."
He then pushed the chair in front of a full length mirror covered by a black, silky, fabric. Untying Squig, he whipped the cloth off the mirror so Squig could admire the new do. What Squig did was stand open mouthed in horror at the abomination staring back at him from the mirror. That cat had a purple fake fur formation glued to the top of his head. Every whisker was curled. Half of them facing left and half facing right. Each claw was painted a different fluorescent color. And the word D'Weze was shaved down his back. He sank back in the chair momentarily speechless.
Then slowly he stood and slowly he turned to face Dweezil. "I am going to kill you," he hissed, puffing himself up to twice his size. What do you mean shaving that stupid name in my my fur, you miserable."
"A great artist always signs his work, " Dweezil said flatly, examining his claws.
"You are not a great artist," Squig shrieked. "You are Dweezil the cat."
"That may be" he responded, "But you my friend are officially now a doodad and you owe me ten."