How not to give a cat a bath

While I was taking a nap today, Tony  managed to get into the pantry. Of course, true to his bad kitty nature, he got into the garbage, dragged out the greasy paper towels from this morning’s bacon (I made it in the microwave, so it was extra greasy) and rolled around in them soaking up all their greasy, bacony goodness. He came in to the bedroom, strutting his stuff, his tail stuck straight up in the air with a swagger in his walk. I could tell immediately what he’d done just by looking at him because he was so greasy. Eeew.

So I turn on the warm water in the tub, told my son to hold onto him (which he did by picking him up by the middle and going “Now what?”) and went to go get the Dawn dish soap. The same Dawn we’d been instructed to wash them both with to rid them of fleas when we brought them home from the shelter.

Tony: MAAAAAAAAAAAAAWM! Mawm no no no no! Dis is de wet stuff. I no likes wet stuff! NO NO NO NO NO WET STUFF!

Me: Well then, smarty pants, you shouldn’t have gotten into the trash can.

Tony: I couldn’t help it. Was so tasty smelling. Was much delicious. Was much fun to roll around in.

Me: (rubbing his now wet fur with soap) You are so gross.


Me: No I am not. Now hold still so I can rinse you off.

Tony: I hateses you forevers. ::glare::

Me: Tough butter, kid.

As I dried him off, he continued to glare at me like I’d just done the worst possible thing to him. As soon as I let him go, he jumped out of my lap, walked two steps in front of me and took the biggest poop I’d ever seen. I mean, I questioned how such a little cat could have so much poop inside of him.

I guess I know how he feels about me right now.




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