Submerged in the bubbly tub, I started to thaw out. I was quite relaxed as it was, but had prepared to get even more relaxed by bringing in a glass of wine and some quality reading material (Donald Duck). I knew I had left the bathroom door ajar, because after about 10 minutes of blissful bopping about a little furry face appeared beside my head. Our cat Lily had decided to come and see what was taking me so long.
Two little paws on the edge of the tub she reached in to sniff the bubbles. She looked at them and then at me, perplexed. She's more used to sitting in the empty tub, staring at the tap, waiting for me to turn it on so she can drink from it while I brush my teeth in the mornings. After another brief glance, Lily sauntered out of the bathroom.
About fifteen minutes later she was back. Again, staring at me, trying to figure out what it was that I was doing. And, more importantly, why wasn't she included in this activity. She jumped on the side of the bath and went sniffing the bubbles again. By now, she had become to ta conclusion that the tub was, in fact a new bed, and the bubbles had to be my new duvet. She decided to jump in.
Needless to say, the realisation that she had in fact jumped into a bathtub full of water, resulted in the cat shooting out of the bath and the bathroom faster than anything on four legs I've seen before. I swiftly followed, seeing as a dripping wet cat roaming around in a house full of gadgets isn't an appealing idea. I followed thw wet paw prints into the kitchen and onwards to the living room, where there was a cat-shaped puddle in the middle of the carpet. She had continued onto out bed, which had a puddle in the middle of it now, before proceeding to nurse her bruised kitty ego under the bed.
She looked well and truly pathetic, trying to lick herself dry. In one quick manoeuvre I had the car wrapped in a towel and firmly in place between my knees. Towel-drying a cat is harder than you'd think, so I had to bring out the hair dryer. After a while Lily seemed to be almost enjoying the experience. In the middle of it all I burst out laughing at the thought of someone seeing me sat in the middle of our bedroom floor, the drenched cat wedged between my knees, giving her a blow dry. You couldn't make it up.
Mr. S seemed to think Lily was extremely well styled and felt softer after the ordeal. The week didn't necessarily improve for poor Lily, as she too great exception to being de-wormed. At least I didn't have to shove tablets down the cats' throats as I opted for the de-wormer that you squirt onto the nape of their necks. Tom is always an easy patient, just purring away to himself when I treat him. Lily on the other hand, usually tries to make a break for it which is why she gets wrapped into a towel before the procedure. The things I do for them. Madness.