| BathNight From a Cat's Point of View |
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Cat owners, well, I know, I know, we don't "own" them, it's more the other way around, but until my cats pick up the bill for hundreds of pounds of kitty litter slaved home from the store, along with uncountable cans of cat food, all the new wallpaper after each litter raised, AND vet bills worth a carribean cruise over the years, I feel I deserve the right to say I own them! Anyway...."cat owners" all over the world know the feeling of coming home after a long day with aching bones and looking forward to a nice, hot soak in the tub to relax a little before attacking the second job of running a house. As far as relaxing goes, the trouble usually begins as soon as I start running the water and add some nice, smelly, bubbly stuff. My cats just LOOOVE smelly things, which is where the trouble starts. One occasion in particular springs to mind. Despite better knowledge I trust everything to be okay for a few minutes, after all, what can possibly happen while I go to the kitchen to get me a cold drink? If you don't know, you never had cats! If you do have some cats, you are probably leaning back right now with a smirk on your face. Of course, I'm not that wild about appearing PARTICULARLY ignorant, but it was worth a try, so stop snickering. In the middle of pouring OJ over ice, a bone shattering howl emerges from the bathroom that makes my ears ring, followed closely by the half full glass of juice I dropped on the kitchen floor when I jumped out of my skin. No big deal, I assure myself, I know that sound. One of the always present kittens learned how to leap before learning to balance and took a tumble (rule number one: Never, EVER run the hot water first, mix evenly). Looking longinly to the icecubes on the floor, I go rescue the kitten , and, more importantly, dry it off before it gets a chance to get itself dry - which is no problem for a cat...any silk curtains, expensive rugs, or the bed cover will do just fine. (Remember, the water is still running - work fast.) Fortunately, I have the presence of mind to walk AROUND the shattered glass in my attempt to get back to the bathroom at warpspeed . By the time I'm finally ready to sink into the heavenly steaming water, I have to do what every sensible human being does before taking a bath (and I don't mean taking the phone off the hook, I already did that!) except, by now the bathroom is warm and foggy, and the entire cat family has taken up their favorite places. In this case that means to convince a - sound asleep - tomcat to get off the toilet cover where he was gently snoring away. That's allright, I get a dirty look, but he'll get over it. They know I am always insensitive enough to need the place they just chose for a nap. The Siamese needs to be moved away from the heater again. First, she is blocking all the hot air, and second, she is getting so fried that the air starts smelling funny. How this cat can handle the extreme heat of lying in front of a hot air blower or on top of a radiator so hot that you get blisters when accidently brushing it, is a miracle to me, but she does it over and over again, therefore during the cold wheather season she looks like she's been tortured with her sometimes singed hair ends. I pray for not being turned in by a concerned neighbor. Who on earth would believe she does it to herself?? She still succeeds scaring the daylights out of me every so often, but she will just not give in on this one. She want's to get hot, and so she does. Finally in the water, there is little time to close my eyes and get comfy. Gametime is on almost immediately. Since I share my home with a Siamese, a Persian and Maine-Coons, I have come to believe all cats are water freaks (as long as the bath is not meant for them in the first place and does not include nasties like flee shampoo). At least all of mine are. Which is a good lesson in teaching the human members of my family to never leave the toilet seat UP (where did you get so wet and just WHY do you smell like lemmon fresh???). Their upmost happiness seems to be to drink my bathwater. While I'm in it, mind you, not under ANY circumstances while it is still clean, and it has to have at least soap and conditioner in it. The more chemicals added, the better, and since all persuasion on my part (no hunny, that's REALLY bad for you) or screaming my head of (which more likely results in heaving a terrified cat INSIDE the tub anyway) seems to have no effect at all to discourage them, I try to wash my hair only after they all had their drink. Of course, they always find a way to get to their soapy water. The Siamese often leads the way. Gracefully gliding of the washer onto the rim of the bathtub, looking all innocent, maybe licking her shoulder some, or staring into space for a while. You know, giving me the chance to feel safe again. Then, dreamily, she dips in her head to get a few mouthfuls of bubbles before my wet foot shoves her aside. By now I have a fair amount of hair with me in the tub. While I was distracted, the Persians took the front row seats. One of either side of my head. All that can be heard for the next few seconds are content slurping noises. Between the four of them keeping me on my toes (take your paw away from my nose, and GET your tail outta here!!), they always manage to have their way. And I must admit, even though I cannot understand why they are so determined to drink it, they never got sick from it either. Of course every so often one of them slips and falls in. Usually the one with the most hair. Some of them even come in voluntarily if I'd let them. I remember it took months to convince one of my Maine-Coon kittens that she would not be welcome to join me. The first time I was so stunned to have this silky wet piece of purr curl up close to my shoulder, that I just let her stay for awhile. Which ultimately presented the problem how to get myself dry holding a dripping, now cold, and therefore unhappy, kitten which is clawing on me for a better grip. By now she learned she is not allowed inside, but if she can pretend she FELL..... At least her mother is more sensible. Chasing bubbles with her paws is enough for her. She does definately not want to be inside all the way. But she, too, slipped once. There is nothing more pathetic then eight pounds of soaking fur looking like something the cat dragged in, clawing aimlessly (but very effectively) for support, howling of the top of her lungs like she is being skinned, before taking a flying leap, leaving clean up work for hours. Just pray the bedroom door and the towel cabinet are closed. Oh well, I get to that later. After all, I'm the expert to get them out of the holes they keep digging for themselves.... By the time I get out, the tomcat is sound asleep on top of the towel. He opens one eye and yawns big when I nudge him. He gives me this disgusted 'not YOU again' look, but since I'm dripping I have no sympathy. He puts his nose in the air and allows me to pull the towel out from underneath him, not understanding why he is being disturbed, when their GOT to be other towels in the house! At least, this time he lets me have it. Ever seen a cat at a tug-of-war? I have. Looking at the towel and the leftover Persian sticking to it, I wonder how wise this decision was. I just should have let him have it. But, by now, the worst is over. Sort of. Body lotion is a must, and gives a nice finishing touch. On the cats, I mean. My legs do not so much appreciate the Persian rubbing up to them just right this second. Oh well, the hair will eventually dry and fall off. Trust me. The blowdryer helps, that is, if one can manage to untangle the cat who without doubt was having a great time playing with the cord. I have a nice collection of all kinds of former hair stylers with shredded cables. Once finished, I am ready to have a lydown on the couch with a fluffy blanket and a good movie. I just don't have the energy to do more. And didn't you know it? The cats are already there. One in my corner of the couch, one on the blanket, one on the remote control, and one on the TV guide. Never, in all the years that I have been addicted to cats, have I been able to figure out how they know so EXACTLY where I wanted to be or what item I needed, and then get there first. This phenomena only comes in handy when you are looking for the car keys. After an hour of frantic searching, give up, and look for the cat instead. She is sitting on them. Believe me. By the time I have claimed my seat and cuddled up in the blankie, all four of them have rearranged themselves on top of me. All I can hope for now is that I didn't forget anything, so I don't have to disturb them again. Other then the remains of the orange juice on the kitchen floor that I will surely step into the next morning. |
