And amazingly enough, I only got two scratches! My black cat Heket showed up at the door a distinctly different color except for her face. She came in and proceeded to make herself at home on the couch next to me. I tried petting her to see if whatever it was that was on her would come off, but it wouldn’t. I briefly toyed with the idea of letting her clean herself off, but quickly decided against that, because while the dirt, or whatever it was, might have been high in fiber, odds were she’d either proceed to hack it all up after bathing herself, thus requiring me to clean the carpet/couch/whatever inconvenient spot is most appealing to a cat or bazooka shit it out all over those self-same areas (with the added possibility of doing it on me).
Thus, I decided to take on the task which few mortal men dare to do: Bathe the cat in the tub. Naturally, her feline psychic powers were in full gear, because as soon as I picked her up, she started squirming and trying to get away. I was able to keep her calm enough to maintain a grip on her while I carried her into the bathroom, and didn’t lose hold of her as she struggled ever more valiantly against me as I turned the water on, and tried to find a comfortable temperature for her.
Once I splashed her with water, however, the battle was on. With one hand firmly, but gently, clamped around her belly, I used my other hand to catch water, pour it on to her fur, and then rub the dirt out. She was fierce in her opposition, thrashing about and making pathetic mewling sounds unlike any I’ve ever heard from a cat before. It was a deadly dance we weaved, she of the sharpened claws, and me of the soft, easily rendered flesh.
As the struggle grew, I realized that the simple splash and rub method wasn’t working, so it was time to change tactics. I was going to have to turn on the shower head and let that spray her. I briefly considered climbing into the shower after I’d turned it on, holding the cat and allowing both of us to get wet, but quickly discarded this idea as being unworkable. If I got into the shower with my clothes on, I’d ruin the things in my pocket (wallet, iPod, etc.), but to take them out, or remove my pants (which would leave my goody bits protected only by my undies, a risky proposition to say the least) would require the use of both my hands. Putting the cat down wasn’t an option. I wasn’t worried about her taking her revenge by sinking her claws in my suddenly exposed flesh, that’s not her style. No, Heket would most assuredly flee, and with there not being a door on my bathroom, it would be impossible for me to catch her again.
Turning on the shower head was more of challenge than I could have imagined. I had to move her slightly towards the faucet as I turned on the head and, somehow, she managed to find something on the metal to sink her claws into! I tried tugging her away gently, but quickly had to stop, as I was concerned that I was going to rip her claws from her paws. This meant going in with my free hand and prying them loose. She got one claw into my finger, and another one in my forearm, but I got her free without a significant loss of blood on my part.
The mewling increased in volume and odd quality, but the water running off of her turned to clear, and her fur appeared to have resumed its normal color. I finally cut the water off and bundled her into a towel to dry her off. She didn’t give me a typical “I hate you biped and will kill you the moment you turn your back on me” expression cat’s often do, but stared up at me with, “Whyfore you make me suffer like that, biped? Don’t you love me?”
Carrying her out of the bathroom, I dried her off by hand for as long as she would let me, then released her so that she could finish the job herself. I gave her some scritchels after a bit, and she purred and licked my arm, so I guess I’m safe.