Holy Wet Cats, Batman!

The cousin and I bathed the cats the other day (we get to do it again today! Lucky us!). Miss Thang has never been bathed before (at least not by me. She bathes herself all the time), so she was the first victim. I was expecting the same loud summoning of demonic family members we got to hear at the vet's office, but we only had to get rid of one of her lesser demon cousins. She stood stock-still in shock while I soaped her up and lathered her all over. Since it was a flea dip, more of her had to be washed (her head and face was...challenging), but she took it like a trooper and only glared at me the entire time.

Little Princess was next, and she put up much more of a fight than I was expecting. Usually she is a very laid back cat (I can clip her claws without too much trouble, and she likes being held like a baby on her back), but I guess when it comes to being soaked in lukewarm water, rubbed down with stinky stuff, and made fun of for five minutes, she really isn't laid back at all. She scrambled for the edge of the tub, managed to push off from the wall, use my back as a spring-board (that cat has got to loose some weight), and made a mad dash for the (closed) door. She was even less amused then she already was when I picked her up and plopped her back into the tub.

By the end of the day, I was about as wet as the cats, and Cousin looked a little damp around the edges, but the cats have fewer fleas and that's what counts. I have to do this about once a week to make sure all the fleas are killed, and for the record, I hate bathing cats.

M