How to not dry a cat
"Jill, ah, your cat jumped into the toilet."There are not many statements that can grab your complete attention so quickly. The best part is that it was delivered by my somewhat sheepish older sister, who continued with, "I had him in there with me while I was doing my makeup... I forgot how much he likes water." She paused. "I rinsed him off pretty well, he is drying in the bathroom."
After I stopped laughing, I had a nasty thought which I immediately had to inquire about. "Was it clean water or dirty water?!" Eww. I mean, really.
"Clean." There is a God, and he loves me.
After thinking about it for thirty seconds, I decided that Cat needed a hard-core bath. Even were I confident of the sanitary standards in my toilet, this furry, orange bundle of joy loves batting my face with his paws in the morning, and this month's specialty is attempting to shove them both inside my nostrils.
Once I had confirmed my plan of attack, I commandeered the kitchen sink, Chihuahua's dog shampoo, and warned the houseguests Tim and Danielle that I was washing the cat. If they heard anything scandalous emitting from the kitchen, they were to simply ignore it. Under no circumstances was anyone to give asylum to the cat.
Once I retrieved Jonesie from the bathroom, I held him over the sink and watched his reaction to the swirling water. He reached with both paws towards the suds. Satisfied I wasn't making a stupid decision, I plunked him down in the middle of it. He sat there, looking relatively nonplussed with this less-than-decorous treatment.
All went beautifully, with his full cooperation -until he was clean. With a false sense of victory, I wrapped him in a large towel and told him what a good cat he was. I then hauled him into the bathroom where he could sit and air-dry while I took my shower.
It didn't seem like a bad plan, until I found myself with an armful of the little monster while shampooing my hair. Apparently, he decided he needed attention.... WHILE I WAS SHOWERING. Once I got over the initial shock of realizing I was naked, wet, and holding my equally wet cat in the shower, I realized I had screamed.
I threw Jonesie out of the shower, but my initial bloodcurdling shriek had caused Laura to throw open the bathroom door to see if I was being attacked by Fulton County escapee Brian Nichols. The next thing I knew, Jonesie had bolted past Laura into the living room, where he made a beeline for the back of the sofa.
Alarmed at the idea of my clean, WET cat getting dirty and soaking the living room in the process, I leaped out of the shower a madwoman possessed, wrapped my towel around myself and took off after him. I ended up snatching the little rascal from under Danielle's feet, where he had claimed sanctuary from the giant pursuer intent on his incarceration.
I stood there, wet, dripping, with an orange mop of purring, wet fur dangling from under one arm. Laura was laughing. Danielle and Tim were staring. As they, too, erupted into laughter, I made the most elegant exit I could muster, where I proceeded to thoroughly attend to Jonesie with the blow dryer.
This morning he succeeded in shoving one paw up my nose.
posted by Jill @ 8:17 PM
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