Well, damn. I don't know quite what to say except thank you for your incredibly sweet, touching words of encouragement. It's taken a few days for all the kindness to permeate the hard candy coating that separates the world from my creamy center of diffidence, irritability, and extreme laziness - but now that it has, I want to send you guys back some love.
And that's why I bathed the cat and documented it just for you!
My cat allergies have been getting worse and Fauxhawk came up with the idea of bathing Verne - the primary culprit - to avoid the unpleasantness of my eyes swelling shut.
The Google machine was full of helpful information. "It says here that cats get used to bathing, and eventually learn to like it!" We both knew that was a bullshit sandwich, but we swallowed it whole, quite possibly to steel ourselves against what would inevitably be a complete horror show.
This is how it went down. Someone call PETA.
PHASE 1: T MINUS 10 MINUTES TO ARMAGEDDON.
Roy (above) and Verne (below) maxin' and relaxin' in the sun before we blew open Verne's world and desecrated everything that was pure and innocent. Just look at that cute little dander bomb. Isn't he adorable?
PHASE 2: WAIT A SECOND...THIS FEELS WRONG.
Well, of course it does, Verne. The bathtub is where you have your little morning piss, isn't it? Even though mommy and daddy tell you not to and swear a lot? Turns out your bathroom is now a HELLHOLE OF SUDSY WATER THAT WILL STRIP YOU OF YOUR DIGNITY.
PHASE 3: BETRAYAL REVEALED.
It is at this point that Verne's very small brain registers that 1) he is in fact very, very wet, 2) mommy and daddy are responsible, and 2) THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM THIS NIGHTMARE. Cue moaning sounds in the manner of a dying baby elephant.
PHASE 4: TERROR ENSUES.
When it occurs to us that Verne thinks he is being water boarded, I lose my nerve. I alternate between flapping my hands and hiding my eyes while Fauxhawk calmly and methodically goes about the process of terrorizing the cat with Johnson's baby shampoo.
PHASE 5: YOU FUCKING CUNTS. NEXT TIME YOU TURN YOUR BACK, I'M PISSING ON THE MATTRESS.
Even more disturbing than the dying animal moans is when Verne goes very quiet, no doubt dreaming up whatever acts of retribution he can imagine with barely two brains cells to rub together.
PHASE 7: SHELL SHOCK.
The best part is that I get to play Good Cop, scooping Verne up in a big fluffy towel and holding the lifeless husk of a cat in my arms to dry him.
PHASE 8: FUCK YOU.
PHASE 9: CAT OR DORMOUSE?
PHASE 10: THE ASSIST.
I'M SO FAT I CAN'T REACH ALL MY PARTS SO GOOD.
THANKS, BROSEPH!
P.S. So far so good on the allergy front.
