Thursday, November 06, 2003

Bathtub Kitty

Rachael mentioned on her blog the other day that one of her cats slipped from the edge of the bathtub into the water. Oh, the indignity! My cat, Mooky, is also a bathtub kitty. Actually, he's a bathroom kitty. Loves it in there. Sits on the edge of the tub when someone is having a bath or a shower, drinks the bathwater, drinks out of the toilet. I'll tell you a story about when Bill and I first brought Mooky home, in November 2000.

First, I must tell you something fundamental about me: I'm book-smart, but often not so good with day-to-day life. Sometimes I'm astounded by my street stupids. OK? OK.

Bill loves cats, and has always had cats, and sadly is allergic to cats. I did some research on cat allergies, and when we brought Mooky home, I assured Bill that I would regularly bathe the cat, which would cut down on his allergens. Mooky was still sort of a kitten, after all; he'd get used to the water. (OK, Mooky was six months old and had spent his life thus far surviving in an orchard. But I forged ahead.) Seriously, I'd read that some people bathe their cats! Not only were people out there bathing their cats, but they were taking the cats into the tub and saying that was the easiest way to do it. No problem, I thought. This cat likes me and is super-affectionate. I'll just bring him into the tub, soap him up, rinse him off, and voila! Happy cat and happy, non-sneezing boyfriend.

Well, my friends, I'm not proud of what happened next.

Bathtub means naked, right? I put a couple of inches of warm water in the tub, take off all my clothes, and pick up the cat. I step into the tub, holding the cat, and I sit in the water. I place the cat in the water in front of me and begin to wet him down. Mooky panics. Does he jump out of the tub and run away? NO! He jumps on ME, hauls his wet little body (which now seems to weigh thirty pounds) up over my right shoulder by his claws as though I'm a rock-climbing wall, proceeds down my back, and then jumps out of the tub and runs away. And I'm not wearing any clothes. And it huurrrrts! And Bill appears (because he's just seen the cat bolt through the house, dripping and terrified) and says, helpfully, "Why are you naked? Are you crazy?" See, I'd told him about the cat-bathing plan, but it had never even occurred to him that I would STRIP DOWN AND GET RIGHT INTO THE TUB. Because anyone with half a brain would realize that would be A BAD IDEA.

It turned out that I only had a few scratches, and Mooky forgot about it all as soon as he was dry. Thanks for the memories, Rachael! :)

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