Usually Imogen wrestles the cats through the bath. They are caught, bundled off to the laundry and all we hear are wails and meowing until a sorry soggy cat scoots out and takes refuge under the nearest table. But this week Imogen wasn't there. She is away at a mission school. So that left me as Bath-Master-In-Chief.
I eyed my first victim, a pitifully meowing fuzzy lump. I began to wonder if this might be easier than I had imagined. I plopped the cat in the bath, ran some nice warm water and bath day began. Soon Jenny began wailing, insisting that I'm a mean horrible monster who tortures poor little cats for fun. Bathing moaning cats is not my idea of fun.
One soggy cat scurried away, sliding on the tiles and hid under the table. I grinned. Only two more to go. The next cat was a breeze. Sammy hates the bathtub but he's so silly he won't try get out. Either that or he knew I'm the master of the bath. When I say "you will sit there" I mean it. He just sat there, meowing pitifully like a little kitten. But I was still cautious. There was still one cat left to go.
Poppy is known as a horror in the bath. The first time we bathed her, she jumped out of the bath onto Imogen's head. So I eyed her cautiously. We both put our best stubborn faces on and the battle began. At first things seemed to go well. Poppy stayed mostly in the bath, along with the water. Sophie help me pour cupfuls of warm water over her back. I relaxed slightly. Then the whirlwind began.
For some reason, Poppy decided she hated the bath more than usual. Or maybe she thought I was weaker and more likely to let her out of the bath than Imogen. She started clawing her away out of the tub. I yanked her back in. Sophie helped me pin her down. We settled back down to wetting her. Then Poppy climbed the air in front of her. I've never actually seen a cat climb thin air before but this one certainly did. She leaped into the air and wriggled like an eel.
"Turn off the water," I yelled at Sophie.
She wrestled with the taps and a little of the airborne water disappeared. I put my best stubborn face on and tried to wrestle Poppy back into the bath. The horrible animal decided at the moment that she wanted to be gone and scratched me, jumped out of the bath and ran away, dribbling water all over the floor. I clutched my arm and stalked after my foe.
"Fetch Dad," I told Sophie.
It was war.
Dad appeared a couple of seconds later and grabbed Poppy by the scruff of her neck. He dunked her back into the tub and the battle began again. This time it went our way. Dad held her down gently but firmly. There wasn't any climbing walls with him there. In record time we had a third soggy animal hiding.
I've decided that Imogen may keep her delightful job. This Bath-Master-In-Chief wants to retire. I've got several huge scratches on my arm and a horror of bathing animals. But we won.