Bathtime for Kitties 3.0

So, kitty the first, the illustrious Sir Oliver Skitten, loved to play in the crawl space under our duplex, take dustbaths on our gravel driveway, and hang out in the neighboring trailer park. As a cat who was half-white [CFA would say, dipped in whipping cream] all over her belly and legs/paws, this was not conducive to cleanliness. Don't get me wrong, she, as any proper cat dedicat 25% of her day to washing. [Cats dedicate 50% of their time to sleeping, and the remaining 25% to eating, playing, attacking ankles, active mischief making, and begging for some of your dinner. ] Therefore, my room mate at the time declared that she would be bathed. [First he had to insist that I google it, because I had claimed that cats had no need of baths, something I recalled reading in Cat Fancy, oh, 8 years ago. ]

After he proved me wrong, he dove into the bath with a struggling, scratching, angry cat. After she repaired her dignity, we found that she wasn't cream, she was indeed white. Her hair was glossy and all that horrible loose hair went down the drain. It was brilliance. The best part, however, was that since he was so forcible in the bathing of her, that she was positively docile once I started bathing her, several baths later.

Kitty the second, the cuddly Sir Almadeus Tigger the Second, is also indoor-outdoor and once rolled in our sidewalk chalk art. There was much confusion, then hilarity, when he walked in one night, with his face, cheeks and ears bright pink and his hips aquamarine blue. He was not thrilled by the bath experience, but tolerated it with the good faith of a child of an empty-nester [his previous mom].

Kitty the third, the adorable lapcat Olivia, is indoor-indoor, but has a long-haired [single layer] coat. I'd never bathed a long-haired cat before, but as she weighs in at 4lbs, 4oz, I was able to fill the bathroom sink and dunk her protesting, wiggling self in. Although she struggled the whole way, she didn't bite, and didn't scratch. She's such a dear. As a cat who had been residing at the shelter until Monday, she probably needed the GUNK cleared off of her.

The catch: Afterwords, I set her dripping wet self on my lap and enveloped her in a towel, attempting to remove the most of water. Cats do not tolerate this part well, as they prefer to wash themselves to straighten out their coats and air dry [In the winter, we tried the hairblow dryer, set to 'cool'. Let's just call that a spectacular failure.]. So I soaked through one pair of jeans. Then later, still damp, lover Olivia settled into my lap yet again to finish washing and to take her noon to four nap.

Now my second pair of jeans is unpleasantly damp. I will have to change yet again. I seem doomed to do my laundry. BUT THE BOYCOTT WILL NOT END UNTIL I HAVE NO CLOTHES LEFT. Le Mai's mum once noted that she could easily not do laundry for a month and a half, as the posessor of an expansive wardrobe. After moving and attempting to manage my sea of clothing, I have decided to attempt this, partly from laziness, and partly from fear of our zombie-infested, eau-de-Subway reeking laundry room. Also, $1.50 for wash/dry. It's not the quarters I protest, it's the fact that I pay rent, and that ought to be enough. I've been out of underwear for about two weeks. I still have tanktops, which will be the mitigating factor. In the summertime, one can't repeat-wear the tanktop. My habit of layering two tanktops is also not precisely good. I don't believe I've done laundry for about 3.5 weeks [I last did it the morning after crashing in the nest, a Sunday sometime ago.] but will have to calculate the details later.