Bather of the Cat

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Mark Twain once said, “A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.” I will build on that and say, you can learn things about a young cat by giving that feline it’s first bath that you can learn in no other way.

For example, I thought the extent of a wet cat’s physical reach was comparable to its reach when it is dry, or about 15 inches. That was a mistake. A wet cat’s physical reach when it is being given it’s introductory bath can reach all four walls and the ceiling in a medium-sized room. Simultaneously. And those itty-bitty velvet paws grow from the size of a silver dollar to that of a hubcap.

Perhaps you cat owners were wondering why on earth was I giving a cat a bath? Cats are clean, you might say. Cats bathe themselves. Cats are fastidious. Tru dat, but when those little representatives of Satan’s Empire stroll through poison ivy and then rub up against my wife, who is hypersensitive to poison ivy, and donate to her rash, blisters, and weeping sores, a bath for the cat is necessary. The doctor said.

And, since my wife is hypersensitive to poison ivy, the honor was bestowed upon me to become Bather of the Cat.

The cat objected. I had a good grip on her neck (oh, the possibilities missed!) and her two front legs while I lathered her up with Dawn. She reminded me that she had two more feet and they had talons that would make a vulture jealous.

I now have three slash marks on my left forearm that look like the logo from a can of “Monster” sports drink. They are not scratches. They are, to be accurate, rips. They will scar. They were deep. I bled as much as I did when I hit myself in the head with a baseball bat, which was more fun.

When it was time to dry off the little queen, my proximity to the microwave was enticing, but Lisa was overseeing and blocked my way.

But Lisa can’t always be around now, can she? Now, where is the little Princess? Here, kitty kitty kitty. . .

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