As I stood in the shower, alone with my thoughts, my blood began to boil. I had taken the news well at first, but time to ponder the facts had left me furious. Evidence is mounting that we aren't really looking at an evil car, but rather inferior service from the dealership. As I thought about the news Mr. Husband had called me with, I realized that I was certain that we paid for a vehicle inspection that was never performed, or that was performed by a troupe of blind monkeys. I also realized that if I didn't find a way to release some fury, I was going to rip the heads off of anybody who happened to cross my path, whether they deserved it or not.
And then our old man of a white cat, Powder, barged into the bathroom. He has decided it is his duty to steal kitten food from Ali, so now he's so fat that he can't reach all of his own bits and parts to clean himself. I looked at the dirt spot on his back and decided I had found my victim. That's what he gets for invading my shower, after all.
A little while later, I threw his fat butt in the tub and prepared to enjoy torturing him with a bath. I poured water over his head, eagerly anticipating a glorious howl of misery.
I got nothing.
I guess it makes sense that a cat who will invade your shower will find enjoyment in a bath.
Once I came to terms with knowledge that I was going to have to find someone else to torture, I set to scrubbing Powder clean. Half a bottle of shampoo later, I started to suspect a Not Good Thing. There was a dark spot where Powder should have been clean and THE MOTHER TRUCKIN' SPOT WAS MOVING.
::gag::
Powder has spent his entire life trying to figure out how to escape the terrible confines of our walls. Earlier in the week he had escaped my morning cat wrangling activities, except I had no idea that he wasn't in the basement when it happened. He spent the entire day outside, surely trolling for some tasty snacks out in the field behind our house. I'm guessing that he realized he's too fat to actually catch anything, because when I returned home, I found him curled up by the front door, acting as if I was evil for having left him out in the hot sun all day.
Regardless, I assumed he must have acquired a tick while he was being a doucheturd out in the yard. I may have taken some of my frustration out on the tick as I yanked it from his back. Maybe. It wasn't very satisfying, though, since ticks don't howl when you squeeze their heads with tweezers.
Somehow, I was more cranky after giving Powder a bath than I was before. SO. NOT. FAIR.
Just as I was trying to figure out who else I could torture, Cody trounced in. I tossed him in the bath. Then again with the FAIL. The damn dog enjoys baths more than any dog I have ever seen. I kinda hate him for it.
I finally, FINALLY got to hear some howling when I went after Ali. Even that didn't feel good, though, because who can find enjoyment in torturing a kitten? GRRR.
The only four-legged creature left was the Bulldog. I'm not stupid enough to think anything good could come of giving her a bath, so I left her for Mr. Husband. It turns out I was wrong, though, because there was much enjoyment involved with her bath. She's a bowling ball with legs under normal circumstances, but in a bath she's extra slippery, completely uncoordinated, fierce as a dragon, and impossible to contain. I liken giving her a bath to trying to wrangle a baby whale. Listening to Mr. Husband howl as he tried to control her? Totally rejuvenating.
