Thursday, August 07, 2008

Now let's see... why would i have been awakened at 7am this morning (having been awakened just two hours earlier for the same reason).

Oh that's right, my cat, Potter who wakes me up EVERY morning.

Except this morning when i went to push him away i discovered he was covered in tar.

Oh. My. God.

I remember that book Briar Rabbit from when I was a child. My grandma had it at her house and I used to like reading it every time i went over. I remember feelings of good and evil, right and wrong attached to that book. I'll have to reread it now as an adult to rediscover what was so compelling in it.

But not now. Now I have to get this oily tar-ry crap off my cat.

I tried baby wipes. I wiped and wiped and wiped and filled up the bathroom trash can.

I called the vet.

Um... yeah... hi. This is Ann Pittman calling about my cat, Potter, he seems to have gotten in some... um... tar. Can you help me?

They returned the call when their office opened and had two suggestions: shave the cat and vegetable oil. I chose the latter. Actually the nurse chose the latter. Since the tar was primary on Potter's head, neck and paws, shaving would prove difficult (head and paws). So she suggested soaking him in vegetable oil and then cleaning him with soap and water.


Potter's never had a bath.

It was awful.

Fortunately, he liked the baby wipes, he didn't even seem to mind the vegetable oil. He purred and swooned and must have thought he was at the spa until i turned on the faucet and tried to dunk him under it.

For not having front claws, I sure am bleeding a lot.

The dog started barking, Zorba took off in fear; the noises coming out of Potter about gave me a fright. So i called in the troops. Johnson was at my house by now (he's putting in a new floor in my back room) and together we attempted the impossible.

Operation Wash Potter.

It was a sad but necessary process and I left him in the bathroom to tend to his "wounds" (wet fur). I cleaned up my wounds (literal) and washed my beautiful, white, soft, 30-year-old-birthday-present sheets twice to get the tar off them from where Potter had initially pounced.

And I tried to go back to bed... on the couch... with a spare blanket. But nothing came of it.

It's going to be one of those days.


lynnette said...

oh dear. poor potter. poor ann.

Anonymous said...

where in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks did he get into tar?