Worsening feline dandruff or crappy weather?

Today Ottawacker Jr. informed me that the latest addition to the Château Ottawacker Stable of Adopted Felines had developed a bit of a skin condition. “It’s gone all white,” he said laughing.
 
I, of course, rushed out to see what the hell he was talking about. Had Scraggles, as he is affectionately called, been following the Great Orange Leader’s advice about injecting disinfectant? Was it a severe case of feline dandruff? No, this was much worse.
 
For, on May 12, it was snowing again.
 
Words cannot express how much this pisses me off. I know, I know, I know. You are probably more pissed off at the endless repetition of how pissed off that I am than I am pissed off about the endless snow we get. It is, after all, Canada. But still.
 
Then Ottawacker Jr. informed me that he no longer liked the name Scraggles, as he felt it was derogatory and might hurt the cat’s feelings. While I was formulating a retort to the tune of “it’s a stray cat, he’s being fed, you could call him Scrotum and he wouldn’t care”, Ottawacker Jr. then hit me below the belt.
 
“Actually,” he said. “I want to call him Bombur.”
 
Those of you who persevere with these stream-of-consciousness narratives will remember that we are in the process of reading Lord of the Rings together, he and I. Well, I read it, he listens. He had almost peed himself at the description of Bombur in LotR, as he had been such a fat dwarf, he had needed six younger dwarfs to carry him to the table at mealtime. “I want to call him Bombur,” said Ottawacker Jr., “because he is getting a bit fat now and is not scraggly at all.”
 
Then came the coup de grâce.
 
“In fact,” he said. “He’s now almost as fat as you. I mean, it isn’t going to be too long before we have to carry you to the table, is it?”
 
I stood there open-mouthed, speechless; consciously holding in my stomach and trying to breath at the same time. I pulled my foot to give a well-aimed kick to the Ottawacker Jr. arse but found thin air (even the air is thinner than me) as he had run upstairs to his room cackling.
 
I get no respect. Bombur indeed. Still, at least he remembers his Lord of the Rings.