Several years ago, in Utah, a cat moved into our barn and had kittens. Six of them. Oddly, the cat didn't mind us around it or the kittens, even though it was feral. The kittens, as they got more adventurous, followed me around the orchard and garden, wanting to play. The kittens had no problem when I flooded the orchard and garden when my irrigation turn came around, even in the middle of the night. They especially liked to knock small sticks into the irrigation ditches, then chase and "kill" them. They would often go complete under water because the ditch was so deep, and seemed no the worse, simply shaking the water off, and trying to kill the stick (or whatever they found) again, or going back upstream for a new target.

This behavior lead me to make an assumption about the kittens. This was my first mistake.

With the kittens half grown, being outdoor cats, and getting into things like compost piles, they acquired an odor that might be described as "piquant."

I allowed the kittens into the house, as I sometimes did, leading them into the main bathroom. I then closed the door. This was my second mistake.

In the large freestanding tub (the old fashioned kind with feet, that real people can actually stretch out in) I turned on the water, so it was low but steady flow, adjusted the warmth carefully to a little more that body temperature. I the changed the flow of water from the tap to the hand-held "waterpik" attached to a hose.

All during this process, my captive audience was sitting on various raised surfaces, such as the toilet tank and the sink countertop. They followed with interest, and no apparent agitation, all the activities in the previous paragraph. This, while not my third mistake, reinforced my first.

Picking up the sole male of the litter, I placed the black and white short-haired kitten on the bottom of the tub. He looked about with what seemed to me interested curiosity. He could see the water running just a few inches from him, and seemed to mind it not at all.

At this point, I made my third, and final mistake. I put water in contact with the cat. And all hell broke loose.

Cats are telepaths. I know this because all six reacted at exactly the same instant. Panic reigned. Apparently fearing drowning, all six immediately sought the highest point. ME. Having clawed their way to the "safety" of my head, shoulders, and arms, they came to the sudden realization that I was in some way involved with this twisted plot to drown them.

At this point things became a blur.

While I know it is physically impossible, I distinctly recall, in the few lucid moments I had, streaks of color, matching that of the various kittens, crisscrossing the ceiling.

Eventually, having crossed what seemed miles, but that I later measured out as 5 feet 3 inches, I was able to reach the door. And after hours, no, WEEKS, I was able to get it open (OK, it wasn't, but it seemed like it).

Net result:
Shredded shirt.
Torn jeans.
Severe blood loss.
Permanent faint white crosshatched lines on my arms.
Cats that smelled exactly the same.

And the G*DDAM little #@$%^@$%^s still frolicked in the irrigation water.

by Someone in American Fork, Utah, USA.
June 6, 2001