Friday, July 7, 2017

Giardia Round Two

Do not wash an almost yearling kitten in the sink.

He was too big. He pushed half out of the sink while I washed the other end of him. He buried his head in my elbow while I washed his shoulders. Because I was battling a parasite, I had to leave the shampoo in his fur for what I hoped was five minutes while he yowled, wrestled, and occasionally took a hopeful leap away from me.

I hate giardia.

I haven't given Blitz a bath since he was tiny and rolled in poop while I was out of the room. That night - yes, it was in the middle of the night - I filled the sink with warm water and he lounged in it while I massaged the crusty bits out of his fur. Then, I rinsed him in warm water while he looked up at me as if he were amazed at the depth of my love. Drying him off was as simple as taking down a small towel and wrapping him in it while I stared into his eyes and rubbed the wet off his whiskers.

Or at least, that's how I remember it.

This was so much worse. I'd lost my sink plug. The water was too cold at first. He shook and water went all over a stack of books I hadn't thought I needed to move. He finally got resigned to the treatment but then I was wary that he'd take a wild leap when I let my guard down and held him from underneath with a grip on both front legs. .

Have you ever seen the video of the cats lounging in bath water?

I hate those cats.

Blitz was pathetic, his pink belly jiggling under thin wet fur when I rolled him onto his back. At least he let me rinse him under his shoulders. I hope I got all the soap out. There was enough water to wet the front of me, so I think I did.

When I brought him upstairs, he stepped out of the towels, shook a foot, stepped, and shook another foot, glaring at me as if I'd tortured him.

Then I got out the cookies. He glared at me while he chomped his cookies.

Then, before Seth could get a clue, I picked him up for round two. I knew I couldn't wash Seth in the bathroom sink. He's about as big as the bathroom sink with an added muffin top. By the time I was done with Seth in the tub, I had a set of claw marks in my right thigh, I looked like I'd puked and peed my pants. I had medicated soap in my hair and on my glasses and water ran across the counters, the floor, and splattered the far wall. Forget the books. I can read wet books.

"You're a good kitty, Seth," I had repeated over and over in what I had hoped was a soothing voice.

What I really meant was, "You're a he-devil cat from the Bronx with titanium claws, the strength of a pit bull, and the sonic voice of doom."

Round two. Cats win.

Thank you for listening, jb

No comments:

Post a Comment