"What's that awful smell?" is never a good question when it follows in the wake of a streaking line of fur and claws. I won't elaborate specifically on the details of the situation, but let's just say the equation of:
long hair + intestinal illness = putrid cat
Thus follows three days of tactical planning and failed attack plans for making this particular cat* less vile.
Day 1:
Fetid odor noticed; enemy spied slinking along the south baseboard heater to food bowl. Armed with comb, our brave soldier successfully corners the enemy. Sadly, the comb is no match for the weapon our nemesis has deployed. We retreat and live to fight another day.
Day 2:
The enemy is locked out into the frozen wilderness. There is hope this will disarm the weapon without further action. With a sickening feeling, we realize this is not to occur and the malodorous cat has redoubled its effort and is now sneering at us in disdain.
Day 3:
The wretched mass of cat is lured inside, unaware of the carefully wrought plan of entrapment. The brave soldier chases him into the laundry room and shuts the door. An hour later we peer inside to make sure the prisoner has not escaped. It is lying in its litter box, adding to the weapon of stink. We get the innocent civilians to bed before the attack begins in earnest. Armed with cat shampoo ("Pleasing Harbor Mist anti-shedding shampoo", to be exact), two towels, two types of cat comb, a tub half full of water, leather work gloves, we strike.
We wrap the cat in a towel to prevent escape, wildly underestimating the capabilities of this feline. Once placed in water, he escapes and hisses, flinging soiled water in all directions. We are fast and furious- blitzkrieg in a four foot square bathroom. Holding the cat down to the bottom of the tub (he can't move or his head gets submerged), the brave soldier scrubs valiantly until all traces of filth are removed from the cat. Gitmo has nothing on us. Unfortunately, the cat decided not to drown itself and we were able to complete the cleaning process. It is currently entrapped in the upstairs bathroom, no doubt plotting its revenge.
The brave soldier is recuperating with two bandaids and an entire tube of neosporin.
*I told Teddy I wouldn't mention him by name
The snow is definitely getting deeper outside. Dennis has had to dig out the fire hydrant and the mailbox lately. Matthew is happy playing outside until his fingers freeze to the bone, but Nolan is still not a fan of winter activities. We're confined to the driveway until the snowpack melts off a little!
