Wednesday, July 23, 2008
I started the day by giving my antique cat a bath. Yes, it was as much fun as you'd think it would be.
We've had Rocky since she was a kitten who adopted us at the softball field in 1992. Yep, you did the math correctly. She's sixteen years old but she still won't go on to that great litter box in the sky.
I'm allergic to cats so Rocky has to live outside. But don't feel sorry for her because she has a really posh kitty cat crib in the form of a fenced enclosure under our deck. It's dry under there because we lined the underside of the deck with corrugated plastic sheets at an angle to drain all the water away. There are cedar shavings everywhere. She has a bed, food, water, and a litter box which she declines to use, choosing instead to pollute the cedar shavings. But, most importantly, she's safe from the dog in her little kitty pen. So you'd think she'd want to stay in there, right?
You see Rocky is our "special needs" cat. She developed a really high fever as a kitten and nearly died. She stayed at the vet's office for three days before they declared her healthy enough to come home. Well, physically healthy, anyway. Mentally? Not so much. She was never the same after that fever. She's afraid of everything. She refuses to use the litter box. She puts her head in the food bowl when I try to pour food in there so it ends up getting dumped on her head. She passes gas and takes off running because she thinks there's something behind her. Given all this, I shouldn't be surprised that the stupid feline would rather lie out in the sun smack in the middle of the yard where the eighty pound dog can attack her every time we let the beast outside.
Today she got out about seven times before we gave up trying to keep her in there. We're not sure how she's getting out or whether or not she can get back in on her own, so we've been opening the gate and putting her back inside, only to find her wandering around the back yard a few minutes later. The last time I tried to lock her in I noticed that the poor cat had fleas all over her. It was really disgusting. I found a big plastic storage crate to bathe her in, got a few towels and the flea shampoo, and I was all set to toss her in but Dan stopped me.
Do you want to know how sweet my husband is? He filled a huge stock pot with hot water from the sink so that the kitty wouldn't have to bathe in cold water.
How stinkin' precious is that? I was all set to dump the cat in the frigid water from the hose, but he warmed up the water for her like he was the lady's maid of some Regency heiress. I love that man.
So, anyway, he came out and helped me give the poor cat a bath and we both laughed at the sounds she made. You've never heard such squawls before. Well, unless you've ever tried to give a cat a bath. Afterward I swaddled her up in two big towels and rocked her like a baby while she headbutted my chin and purred like a freight train.
I think she forgave me.
Then I took allergy medicine. It was worth it.