No, no, no, this is not a horror story, just a short, pitiful
tail tale. The cats ran around on the lanai for their nightly constitutional. Moose let them in after dinner, and we didn’t see them again until late at night. I was sitting and reading at the kitchen table when Tuk-Tuk rubbed up against me. I reached down to pet him and got a handful of dirt. Black dirt.
“How did you get so dirty?” I asked him.
“Mrowr??” he replied.
I picked Tuk-Tuk up, and he purred loudly, thinking I was going to pet him some more. Instead, I deposited him in the kitchen sink. The cat tried to bolt, but I held him firmly in place by the scruff of the neck. I turned the faucet on low and washed him off carefully. Thankfully, Tuk-Tuk didn’t howl, scratch, or bite. You should have seen the pitiful, pissed-off kitty look on his face. Then I called out to WineGuy, “Can you please bring me a big towel?”
A few minutes later, WineGuy ambled into the kitchen. He cocked his head, chuckled, and handed me the towel. I trapped the cat in the towel and dried him off thoroughly. Then, I rinsed the cat hair and dirt out of the kitchen sink. Tuk-Tuk must not have been too angry with me because he laid down on the floor next to me while I finished the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle.
Yes, you can bathe a cat. Better to try it with the submissive male than the alpha-male, though. Buddha would yowl bloody-murder and/or bite the crap out of me if I tried to bathe him.