Honey, I washed the cats

This weekend, the house was abuzz with preparations for J's dad's arrival. Bob (my father-in-law! eep!) will be staying with us through the week before Thanksgiving, making him the first guest we've had to stay longer than just overnight. Plus, he's a parent, so everything has to be in tip-top shape. That meant raking and bagging 32 giant bags of leaves, pine straw and magnolia cones. It meant giving the house a thorough scrubbing. And it meant washing the cats.

Oh, yes.

I've bathed the cats before, usually to rid them of powerful dander or to clean them up after an accident. (Most recently, we bathed them because Mojo had, as usual, peed on himself from sheer terror at visiting the vet, and you can't just wash one cat without washing the other. There will be reprisals.)

So as J heroically mowed the lawn, I (equally heroically?) gathered old towels and bathmats, got the cat shampoo and "rinsing cup," ran tepid water in the tub and snagged an unsuspecting Mojo. He yowled and tried to scramble out of the tub, but he put up with the bathing without attacking me. Five minutes later, he was wet and indignant. Five more minutes later, so was Emily.

I sometimes wonder if the level of clean that cats experience after a bath isn't so much due to the shampoo as it is to the fact that they obsessively groom every single part of themselves afterwards. Either way, both cats seemed proud of their newfound cleanliness, which is also par for the course. As I guy I used to date put it, "Yeah, they hate it at first, but afterwards, they're stoked!")

(I think the photo above really captures how our house has become a giant puppy playpen. Evey single toy on the floor is Peach's. The box of pee pads on the ottoman, however, has become Emily's safe haven when Peach gets out of hand. Someday we'll have a tastefully appointed home. Perhaps when J lets me raise a herd of giant Great Pyrenees in the backyard.)

In other cat news, I finally met one of Black Kitty's humans, and asked about the little critter. His name? Blackie. Well, that explains why he comes when I call "Black Kitty." I can also report that he's amenable to being snuggled and that he and I are now best buddies.

Man, it's been all about the cats up in here lately, hasn't it? I'll try to throw some MST3K love at you before the week is out. Maybe The Creeping Terror...

Comments

[Uma]

lol i can also remember when we were kids like 8 or 10..we played around with our cat and we bathe the cat..the cat died because of cold..