Madam Erie had a bath yesterday. She wasn't impressed. In fact, no matter where you are in the United States, you might have heard her opinion on the matter. I wouldn't have subjected her to the indignity except that she's old, arthritic, and we've just learned, heading into chronic renal failure. Her coat was greasy, dirty and matted. With her kidneys challenged, her skin needs to be kept clean so it can assist in detoxing her system to some small degree. We switched on the onboard water heater, and snuck around gathering the towels and soap while debating the potential retributions the cat might visit upon us after the deed was done.
As with many things, gathering my courage was harder than the actual activity. No blood was shed. That isn't to say that the wet, soapy, slippery cat didn't try to make a dash for it at every opportunity. She did. But I prevailed. A much cleaner, sweeter smelling and totally PISSED OFF Eratosthenes emerged to be wrapped in towels and fussed over. She wasn't buying what we were selling. It took most of the day for her double coat to dry - double coat means she has layers, the guard hairs you see and a shorter, denser undercoat. She wanted DOWN and far away from anything on two legs.
I was loathed for an entire two hours.
She forgave me when I showed her a sunny spot for her snoozing pleasure. And today, the entire thing is a bad memory. It's clear she feels better now that her coat is cleaner. Of course, it won't be the last bath. It can't be. Her disease is a process. Caring for her is also a process, one that's lasted thus far for seventeen years. As a friend once said, "You love 'em while you've got 'em, then you give them back to Bast." That's our plan.
As for retribution? Erie spent a few hours last night howling, just to be certain we comprehended the depths of her post bathtime despair. Bribes eventually satisfied her thirst for vengenace, however, and we arrived at detente in time for lights out.
That's when the cat snuck around and left a ginormous hairball right in the middle of the hallway for me to step on in the middle of the night.