CAT
BATHING AS A MARTIAL ART
Some people say cats never have to be
bathed. They say cats lick themselves clean. They say cats have a special
enzyme of some sort in their saliva that works like new, improved Wisk--dislodging
the dirt where it hides and whisking it away.
I've spent most of my life believing
this folklore. Like most blind believers, I've been able to discount all
the facts to the contrary - the kitty odors that lurk in the corners of
the garage and dirt smudges that cling to the throw rug by the fireplace.
The time comes, however, when a person
must face reality; when he must look squarely in the face of massive public
sentiment to the contrary and announce: "This cat smells like a port-a-potty
on a hot day in Juarez."
When that day arrives at your house,
as it has in mine, I have some advice you might consider as you place your
feline friend under you arm and head for the bathtub:
Know that although the cat has the advantages
of quickness and utter disregard for human life, you have the advantage
of strength. Capitalize on that advantage by selecting the battlefield.
Don't try to bathe him in an open area where he can force you to chase
him. Pick a very small bathroom. If your bathroom is more than four feet
square, I recommend that you get in the tub with the cat and close the
sliding-glass doors as if you were about to take a shower. (A simple shower
curtain will not do. A berserk cat can shred a three-ply rubber shower
curtain quicker than a politician can shift positions.)
Know that a cat has claws and will not
hesitate to remove all the skin from your body. Your advantage here is
that you are smart and know how to dress to protect yourself. I recommend
canvas overalls tucked into high-top construction boots, a pair of steel-mesh
gloves, an army helmet, a hockey face mask and a long-sleeve flak jacket.
Prepare everything in advance. There
is no time to go out for a towel when you have a cat digging a hole in
your flak jacket. Draw the water. Make sure the bottle of kitty shampoo
is inside the glass enclosure. Make sure the towel can be reached, even
if you are lying on your back in the water.
Use the element of surprise. Pick up
your cat nonchalantly, as if to simply carry him to his supper dish. (Cats
will not usually notice your strange attire. They have little or no interest
in fashion as a rule. If he does notice your garb, calmly explain that
you are taking part in a
product-testing experiment for J.C.
Penney.)
Once you are inside the bathroom, speed
is essential to your survival. In a single liquid
motion, shut the bathroom door, step
into the tub enclosure, slide the glass door shut, dip the cat in
the water and squirt him with shampoo. You have begun one of the wildest
45 seconds of your life. Cats have no handles.
Add the fact that he now has soapy fur,
and the problem is radically compounded. Do not expect to hold on to him
for more that two or three seconds at a time. When you have him, however,
you must remember to give him another squirt of shampoo and rub like crazy.
He'll then spring free and fall back into the water, thereby rinsing himself
off. (The national record is--for cats--three latherings, so don't expect
too much.)
Next, the cat must be dried. Novice
cat bathers always assume this part will be the most
difficult, for humans generally are
worn out at this point and the cat is just getting really
determined. In fact, the drying is
simple compared to what you have just been through. That's because by now
the cat is semi-permanently affixed to your right leg. You simply pop the
drain plug with your foot, reach for your towel and wait. (Occasionally,
however, the cat will end up clinging to the top of your army helmet. If
this happens, the best thing you can do is to shake him loose and to encourage
him toward your leg.) After all the water is drained from
the tub, it is a simple matter to just
reach down and dry the cat.
Do *NOT* try to use a blow dryer. You
might as well use a vacuum cleaner.
In a few days the cat will relax enough
to be removed from your leg. He will usually
have nothing to say for about three
weeks and will spend a lot of time sitting with his back to you. He might
even become psycho-ceramic and develop the fixed stare of a plaster figurine.
You will be tempted to assume he is
angry. This isn't usually the case. As a rule he is simply
plotting ways to get through your defenses
and injure you for life the next time you decide to give him a bath. But,
at least now he smells a lot better.
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