Cat Bathing as a Martial Art

Cat Bathing as a Martial Art

Some people say cats never have to be bathed. They say cats lick
themselves clean. They say cats have a special enzyme of some sort in
their saliva that works like new, improved Wisk - dislodging the dirt
where it hides and whisking it away.

I've spent most of my life believing this folklore. Like most blind
believers, I've been able to discount all the facts to the contrary - the
kitty odors that lurk in the corners of the garage and dirt smudges that
cling to the throw rug by the fireplace.

The time comes, however, when a man must face reality; when he must look
squarely in the face of massive public sentiment to the contrary and
announce: "This cat smells like a port-a-potty on a hot day in Juarez."

When that day arrives at your house, as it has in mine, I have some advice
you might consider as you place your feline friend under you arm and head
for the bathtub:

* Know that although the cat has the advantage of quickness and lack of
concern for human life, you have the advantage of strength. Capitalize on
that advantage by selecting the battlefield. Don't try to bathe him in an
open area where he can force you to chase him. Pick a very small bathroom.
If your bathroom is more than four feet square, I recommend that you get
in the tub with the cat and close the sliding-glass doors as if you were
about to take a shower. (A simple shower curtain will not do. A berserk
cat can shred a three-ply rubber shower curtain quicker than a politician
can shift positions.)

* Know that a cat has claws and will not hesitate to remove all the skin
from your body. Your advantage here is that you are smart and know how to
dress to protect yourself. I recommend canvas overalls tucked into
high-top construction boots, a pair of steel-mesh gloves, an army helmet,
a hockey face mask and a long-sleeve flak jacket.

* Prepare everything in advance. There is no time to go out for a towel
when you have a cat digging a hole in your flak jacket. Draw the water.
Make sure the bottle of kitty shampoo is inside the glass enclosure. Make
sure the towel can be reached, even if you are lying on your back in the
water.

* Use the element of surprise. Pick up your cat nonchalantly, as if to
simply carry him to his supper dish. (Cats will not usually notice your
strange attire. They have little or no interest in fashion as a rule. If
he does notice your garb, calmly explain that you are taking part in a
product- testing experiment for J.C. Penney.)


* Once you are inside the bathroom, speed is essential to survival. In a
single liquid motion, shut the bathroom door, step into the tub enclosure,
slide the glass door shut, dip the cat in the water and squirt him with
shampoo. You have begun one of the wildest 45 seconds of your life. Cats
have no handles.

Add the fact that he now has soapy fur, and the problem is radically
compounded. Do not expect to hold on to him for more that two or three
seconds at a time. When you have him, however, you must remember to give
him another squirt of shampoo and rub like crazy. He'll then spring free
and fall back into the water, thereby rinsing himself off. (The national
record is - for cats - three latherings, so don't expect too much.)

* Next, the cat must be dried. Novice cat bathers always assume this part
will be the most difficult, for humans generally are worn out at this
point and the cat is just getting really determined. In fact, the drying
is simple compared to what you have just been through. That's because by
now the cat is semipermanently affixed to your right leg. You simply pop
the drain plug with your foot, reach for your towel and wait.
(Occasionally, however, the cat will end up clinging to the top of your
army helmet. If this happens, the best thing you can do is to shake him
loose and to encourage him toward your leg.) After all the water is
drained from the tub, it is a simple matter to just reach down and dry the
cat.

In a few days the cat will relax enough to be removed from your leg. He
will usually have nothing to say for about three weeks and will spend a
lot of time sitting with his back to you. He might even become
psychoceramic and develop the fixed stare of a plaster figurine.

You will be tempted to assume he is angry. This isn't usually the case. As
a rule he is simply plotting ways to get through your defenses and injure
you for life the next time you decide to give him a bath. But, at least
now he smells a lot better.

You don't need to bathe a cat!

A dog? Yes. An elephant? Yes. An aardvaark? Maybe.

But a cat?? No way.

Are cats self cleaning then?

My oven is self cleaning,i wouldn't like to have to put that in a bath.

Of course they're self cleaning!

Have you never seen a cat washing? They wash all the time (well, not literally "all the time" but very regularly).
You need to bathe dogs, as they can't (or won't) wash themselves, but you never have to worry about that with a cat.

How the hell have you got a "self cleaning" oven??

Is it one of those Cylon ovens from Battlestar Galaticca (sp?)???

I just tried to use next door's cat to clean my oven.

Neither of them are acceptably clean and i am bleeding profusely from many claw wounds.

...so fuck you BN! and fuck your Cylons too!

Handbags at dawn then?

You shall rue the day Sir! You shall rue the day!

*adjusts periwig, dons frock coat, strides purposefully to the stables*

Forgot to ask,

Who gave you the claw wounds? The oven or the cat?

BN wrote:Forgot to ask,

Who gave you the claw wounds? The oven or the cat?

It was the cat,the oven was wearing the glove i bought for it.

...and Chuck Norris will be rueing days on my behalf,if that's ok.

In Soviet Russia, cat bathes you.

I head about self cleaning ovens. They superheat themselves so the crap just drops off.

Cat's just lick themselves FYI