Bathing Cleopatra

Cleopatra got her Easter bath today; before church; before my shower. I've learned to do this task early in the day because I always end up getting as soaked as she does. It is always an emotionally charged event, so I try to prepare as best I can ahead of time, so as to lessen the trauma - both hers and mine. This day, I remembered to have the extra towels unfolded and draped on a chair back by the sink. I remembered to have two pitchers of lukewarm water ready to pour, on the side of the sink. I remembered to have sudsy soap in a Tupperware container on the other side of the sink.

I did not remember to move the window curtains above the sink out of reach of her desperate claws. Within two seconds of her feet contacting the sink basin, springing like a jack rabbit, she launched herself at the curtains in a futile attempt to climb to safety. This only brought the entire curtain rod and the curtains down upon us, as I tried to extract her claws from the fabric, while still maintaining a firm grip on her body. I managed to get her untangled from the curtains and threw the whole mess on the floor behind us, so that I could finish our bathing ordeal.

All this time, she had been quite vocal and upon realizing that the curtains were not going to save her, she began making even louder protests. Her cries were so dire sounding that Bindi jumped up onto the chair with the towels to see what I was doing to her sister. She looked like a frightened little owl with her ears back and eyes wide.

The boys, Oscar and Marcus, watched from a distant corner of the kitchen, their little faces showing concern, as well. Oscar bolted out of the kitchen immediately upon my release of the bedraggled Cleopatra. Smart boy. He was not going to be the next bath victim. I laughed to myself, shaking my head. None of them but Cleopatra has to go through these ordeals.

Cleopatra is my first (and hopefully last) long haired cat. It is strange that she and short haired Bindi are from the same litter - or so we were told at the pet hospital that July day the girls were brought in.

From the moment she arrived at the pet hospital, Cleopatra displayed a lot of the instincts and stand-offish qualities of a feral cat. Despite our numerous attempts at socialization, she'd have nothing to do with her play toys or her sister. She could barely be bothered with the office staff who fed her; hence the name, Cleopatra (Cleo for short).

Cleo and Bindi were past the cute and cuddly stage by that October, and we had no takers for adoption. The doctor announced he would have to put them down by the end of the month if no one took them. Little did I know that it was an office conspiracy to guilt me into adopting the girls-though I already had enough cats- the two boys- at home! So two spayed little girls that I had named and cared for at the office came home to meet their brothers just before Halloween that year.

When I brought Cleo home, she escaped out the back door with her big brothers one of the first mornings. Thank goodness my backyard is fenced in. She was too young to jump then, and I caught her after her mad dash for freedom. I had good intentions of keeping her inside. Her sister, Bindi, is quite content being a sweet little house cat. Cleo would have none of it. She mewed and mewed and clawed the back door every time the boys went out.

Finally, during an unusually warm November day, I relented, and let her out. She promptly climbed a tree and jumped into the neighbor's yard. She has since performed such feats as jumping on the back of the neighbor's dog, and chasing squirrels from tree limb to tree limb. I just wish her fur wasn't so long and feathery. She comes home from her day long adventures with all sorts of treasures stuck in her fur for me to untangle. Tree branches, weeds, seeds, insects, worms, leaves. When she starts to smell, I get twitchy. The bathing ritual follows shortly thereafter.

Ah, but back to today. Finally, it is night time and Cleopatra, all lovely and freshly bathed is lying in her chair like the little queen she is. By tomorrow night, she'll be bedraggled and smelly again. Who knows what I'll find in her feathery fur next time? Another earthworm, perhaps? All I can do is sigh and plan to move those curtains before her next bath.