23 March 2003 - 12:00 pm
Long ago , in a double-wide on a basement far, far away ... I remember watching my father work. I was in the basement with him, and I don't remember what he was working on, but I remember being content to sit and watch Dad do what Dads do. My mom and younger brother were upstairs. Mom wanted to give Dad's cat, Tigger, a bath, figuring him harmless considering he had both front and back paws declawed. Dad had warned her that Tigger was a cat and could clean himself, but Mom was determined to give him a bath so Dad (and I think at this point he was being just a wee bit sadistic) let her give him a bath. Ten minutes later my brother comes flying down the stairs, "Daddy! Daddy! Come quick, Mommy needs help!" Mom had 8 puncture wounds on each arm, Tigger wanting to remind Mom that being declawed did not make him, for lack of a better term, a pussy. So Dad bundled Tigger up in a towel and held him and talked to him in a low and soothing voice until his pupils contracted and his breathing returned to normal. Then he set Tigger down, and Tigger went off to sit in front of the furnace to dry off. Mom started to complain that he was going to get dirty again, to which Dad looked pointedly at Mom's bleeding arms and replied, "Leave my cat alone." Mom's always been more of a dog person, anyway.
I'm reminded of this story because yesterday Greg decided to give his cat, Thunderball, a bath. I approached this with some trepidation, because Thunderball is not declawed, and 5 of his 6 ends are still pointy. I shouldn't have worried. T-ball is a mellow kitty. I'd almost think he was on something. There were a couple of times when he tried to get a grip on the edge of the tub, but he didn't go ape-shit. It was more like, "Aw Jeez, guys! Do you realize how long it's gonna take me to dry out?" Like I said, mellow.