At last! My son was at a friend's house, my granddaughter had gone home, the tea was finished, dishes were done and I decided to soak in a large relaxing bath. Wine, candles, soft music, book, the lot. Oh...The anticipation. I slowly gathered up the nightgown of choice, (flannel, very old and falling to bits. My favourite), selected an excellent glass off red wine, lit the scented candles and added bath oil to the filling tub. The combined scents of the wine, candles and bath oil were both intoxicating and very soothing. Leaving the bathroom door open, I slowly wandered down to my office where I selected some lovely old jazz disks to play. And then I heard it. *Gallumph! Gallumph! Gallumph! Thud! SPLASH!* Oh, my GOD! Can't you ever leave me in PEACE, damn you?

Rushing back to the bathroom, sure enough, right in the middle of my wonderful, warm, desperately needed bath was Mac! Making no attempt to get out, either. I suppose if I'd attempted to bathe him in the trough like all the others, he'd have ripped me to shreds, but THIS? This was a bit of alright! The devil was practically inviting me to get in there WITH him! Never mind that my wine and wine glass were now at the bottom of the tub. Never mind that my BOOK was floating on the surface. Never mind that at least half the candles were extinguished and drenched! Who cared? This was GREAT, Mum, come on in!

I should've known. I should've bloody well KNOWN it was too good to last. AND I should've shut the damned bathroom door! The 'gallumphing' was a natural reaction of his whenever he heard running water. The 'thud' would've been him hurling himself against the bathroom door to get in, as he usually does. I can just picture the look of utter delight on his face when the wretched door actually OPENED for him. And the 'SPLASH' is self explanatory. In his eagerness to see what was going on, he simply hurled himself into the bath without checking. ~sigh~. OK. Guess I'd better make his first bath a happy experience. With gritted teeth, I leaned down to him and flicked a bit of water at him. ALRIGHT! He's thinks this is great! Hmmmm… best fish the wineglass out. Don't want the toad breaking it and cutting himself. For one dreadful second, I actually paused on that thought. Nahhhh… get a hold of yourself, woman! You DON'T want him cutting himself, right? RIGHT? Good grief! What am I thinking? Of course not! Besides, it's one of an only intact set I have. Let him slash himself up on his father's razor blades!

So the next fifteen minutes passed while he paddled happily in the depths, occasionally slurping a mouthful of water. (It wasn't until later that it occurred to me that wine and bath oils might not mix)!

Finally, his lordship deigned to agree to coming out. Hubby got some 'cat towels' and I hauled him out and started towelling him off. All of a sudden, the bundle of wet fur wasn't so happy anymore. Being towelled off was NOT fun! Stop it!

Mac is the only cat I know who, when being held firmly by the scruff of his neck, can STILL turn around and attack! There's so much loose skin and fur there that, when you think you have him tightly by the neck, the situation reverses itself and you've got the UNDERSIDE of a very angry kitty. Not only that, it was becoming painfully obvious that I was going to have to bathe him again. My bath oils had turned him slippery and slick as an eel. Wonderful!

This time I marched him out to the laundry trough, filled it, and without any ceremony, dumped him in it. To make matters worse, I had to resoap him again and again to get the blasted oil out of his coat. Meantime, he's kicking, screaming, biting, clawing and carrying on like a two bob watch! And I had blood pouring from some really deep gouges! (He was farting, too, if you're interested). Even his deadliest weapon wasn't working and he was furious. I was none too pleased, either, but I had to keep ploughing away until the little wretch was done. By the end of it all, I was exhausted and too damned angry to consider consequences. I emptied the trough, dumped him onto two clean towels and rolled him up in another and scrubbed as much water out of his fur as I could and THEN I got the blow dryer working! I was way passed caring, by this time and he was horrified by this new roaring monster! Eventually he settled down and started to actually enjoy himself, while I puffed his fur and blew it this way and that in an effort to dry him off before bed.

FINALLY, it was all over. He was clean, shiny, sparkling and smelled beautiful. And then I heard it. I'd left the water in the tub and the bathroom door open. Hubby came to the door triumphantly carrying a soaking wet Fatty! He informed me, as he left the room, that he'd emptied the bath AND shut the door. I should've slapped his smug face. God knows, I WANTED to! Instead, I heaved a HUGE sigh, filled the trough again, threw Mac out of the laundry and started the whole stupid affair all over again. At least old Podgebelly LIKES his baths. He sat serenely through the whole washing and rinsing process and then, strange as it may seem, swooned as I used the hair dryer to blow his fur dry. To Fats, the blower is the highlight of the whole deal.

As for me? I finally staggered into bed well after 1:00AM, unbathed, unsoothed and definitely disgruntled! CATS!!

Copyright © Jo Gray