Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two (aghrivaine) wrote,
Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two

Symphony With Cat and Strings in D-Minor

Last night I picked up the cat.

It sounds so simple, doesn't it? Like picking up a friend. "Okay cat, get in the car!" I'd say, and she's hop in and we'd drive to the new apartment. She'd think it was nice because there were big windows and no dog. Her own little domain - a big improvement. That's how it would go in my head, anyway.

In reality, no sooner had I put her in her carrier than a yowling such as has not been heard since Jesus emptied the lake of fire started up. Hustling to get her into the car did nothing to abate the yowling, either - indeed, it just went up in both pitch and intensity. Imagine, say, that someone were drawing a hacksaw over a badly tuned violin. And then they switched to a bandsaw. Like that.

But about halfway through the trip, she quieted down. Curious. And then came the smell. Lovely.

So I get to the apartment and put her carrier down first - but I've got stuff to ferry in and then find a place to park overnight, so I leave her in there to sniff a bit and maybe calm down a little. When I get back, I set up her new pan, bowl, water-dish... I take the carrier over to the kitchen. Now, I know this extraneous detail is boring, but I'm setting a pace here, so bare with me.

Past moves have involved the cat getting angry, and sulking for several days. All cats are Republicans, and they hate and fear change. My cat is no different, and perhaps even moreso. But last night, rather than just sniff around and hide -she immediately freaked out and started running all over the place, rubbing her belly and wiping her tail on everything.

This would not be a big deal. Except that she was positively soaked in her own urine. So now I've got a panicking cat desperately trying to befoul my new, clean, nice apartment with her own effluvia, all while yowling like one of the lost souls of the damned. As best I could, I picked her up and chucked her in the shower - but she hooked her claws on the shower curtain and fought me all the way down. I turned on the water and tried to pin her down Aikido-style with one hand while I made sure it wasn't too hot with the other.

Now, if you thought the cat's complaints were lusty before - it was as nothing compared to when the water hit her. Imagined the afore-mentioned lost souls in the lake of fire - but now give them all tubas and accordians. And tickle them. Good lord - it was a first class kung-fu fight - her seven-paw slapping technique against my mountain-striding bigger-than-you style. Eventually I got the cat soaked, shampooed, and out of the bath. I couldn't, however, catch her in time to towel her off, so she went back to rubbing herself all over the place.. this time, at least, redolent of shampoo, instead of just poo. The sham makes a world of difference.

Thereafter was cleanup - which was in and of itself an ordeal... cleaning things which are pretty gross, then walking around sniffing, trying to find more. Cleaning. Sniffing. What an ordeal.

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