This evening, because the mogs have been scratching a bit, it was Advantage night. (In theory, which is a wonderful thing). HRFL Tiger always wriggles, and so when I applied the Advantage, it went on the wrong place. He, being himself, immediately started licking at it, and started foaming at the mouth. Badly. My heart almost stopped and I went into hyper panic mode...

Right! Thought I... I'll remedy the problem by washing the advantage off. So HRFL Tiger and I went into the kitchen. He knew. He knew EXACTLY what I was thinking before I even thought it myself. It is amazing that when the prospect of bathing a cat crops up they grow extra legs, claws and teeth - and lots of them.

I ran the water in the sink, grabbed the cat, and in one swift movement had applied shampoo, water and blood to the cat. I rubbed in the shampoo, and applied more blood. I scraped Tiger off the ceiling, and rubbed the shampoo and blood into his coat. I pulled him off the cupboard and applied water (and yet more blood) to wash off the shampoo. I held him under the tap. The yowls started, then cat screams and howls of indignant rage. Next doors baby started crying.

Wrapped in a towel, HRFL Tiger went into shock. He couldn't believe it. I last gave him a bath 3 years ago, when he was 5 months old and had fallen in a pool of brake fluid. Wing Commander Robertson started smirking. HRFL Tiger started frantically washing to try and dry his extremely ruffled and very wet coat. Sam appeared and started laughing at soggy moggy because *he* hadn't even been advantaged yet. To add insult to injury, Tiger was treated to the choicest words in Pandora's vocabulary because she didn't realise that the walking flower smell was Tiger and not some imposter.

There's nothing quite like the smell of wet cat.

HRFL Tiger isn't speaking to me. Even the tuna trick isn't working. I suspect I'll be in the doghouse for some time.

Anyone got any band-aids?

Copyright © Helen Miles
September 3, 2001