Please bookmark the correct page at http://suzannadanna.net/ Princess of Irony

I’ve never sent him to a prison and had him drown for my entertainment before either.

Issue Date: Friday, Apr. 21, 2006

A few Sundays ago Mister and I moved our bed over to the new house so we could actually stay there. So the past few weeks have been a litany of packing stuff at the old house and moving it to the new one. Every day on the weekends and every night when we leave work we’ve been going to the old house to knock out a closet here and pack up the pots and pans there.

The cat (formally known as Maximillian MaGillikitty the Third) has been very meow-y and mournful. He hates that we sold the old furniture last Friday and is all, “Who moved my cheese, bitches?!”

We talked about when the best time to move the cat would be and decided that he should stay at the old house until we get everything situated in the new one so as not to freak him out any more than he already is.

The actual MOVE (it deserves capital letters) is tomorrow so I called a local cat place that specializes in the caring and grooming and boarding of the feline persuasion and booked Max a Cat Condo for tonight. I will pick him up tomorrow when THE MOVE is complete and we have his litter box all set up and there aren’t scary movers coming in and out and leaving the door open and all of that noise.

Let’s look at this for a moment shall we?

The cat is old, as far as cat’s go. When I got him from the Irving SPCA they said, “Oh, he’s uh… two. Or five.” And he has been my little kitty companion for the past four-plus years. His teeth are not attractive, one fang is broken in half and his breath smells like buzzard barf (tm Sars). We brush him almost daily and he loves to bite the little slicker comb and he has been accused of having a sordid affair with the Furminator© grooming utensil. We feed him expensive prescription cat food to help with his urinary tract propensities and he gets his shots all on time. We have had his teeth cleaned and his breaks and pads rotated.

What I am trying to get at is that we take very good care of our little boy but damn, there is only so much I can do for the poor guy without the help of a professional.

So I asked the cat people if they could bathe him.

I know that I’ve never bathed him. I know that Mister has never bathed him and I am going to lob a fairly good guess out there that the Irving SPCA people never bathed him either (what, with all the poop in his tail-fur when I adopted him). So, he’s… an older cat, around 9 years of age (at the vet’s best guess)… and he’s never been bathed. I asked the cat people what all is entailed in their grooming and their process sounds quite benign. They don’t clip short haired cats so there won’t be any loud, buzzing noises close to him and they dry them; after their three step bathing process; in a walk through dryer, a fairly quiet machine. So quiet in fact that the lady said most cats fall asleep during the drying process.

Have any of you had experience with this kind of stuff? Cat bathing? We’ve moved Max twice already and he’s never been one to mark/spray or act out… but then again, I’ve never sent him to a prison and had him drown for my entertainment before either.

I am sure that is exactly what he is thinking right now.

This morning when I went to the old house to pick him up he was all, “Hey, hey, hey… Hi. What’s up? Wanna brush me? Look at me, I can run to the fireplace and pointedly look at the cat brush. Wait a second, why are you putting me in that box again?” I felt so bad. Ya’ll Know.

He has been so sweet. Well, I’ve been lucky and he’s always been sweet… but he has been so happy to see us every day when we come over to pack. He normally meets us at the door to the garage when we come in as he has since we moved into that rental house so, meeting us at the door is no biggy until you consider that we have been in and out, moved and sold his furniture and generally jacked up his Kool-Aid. He is so forgiving that he has put away his great distaste for black garbage bags and has remained in my lap while I flap the bag around to throw something away or put together a bag of clothes for Goodwill.

He is such a sweet boy, I feel guilty for boarding him and getting him bathed before he moves into the new house. I know it is the best thing for him but damn… ya’ll should have seen him holding on to my neck with his little front paws when I put him in his cat condo this morning. Talk about breaking a girl’s heart.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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