Shampoo, The Whale: Today was "Give" Stumpy A Bath Day. Or should I say, the Oregon Grey Whale, sp. stumpicusser.
Oh dear. The crying. He gets sooo upset. His yells and cries for help, until we hear meek little me-ows outside the laundry room door, and his little sister Lupita's paw comes under the door, to see if she can reach him. She bats around the air as if she could reach up to the latch and let him out.
He's outside now, sitting in the loose dirt. His first stop was a bowl, on the way out, because he needed to eat something really good, to help. But he didn't find anything but cat food rocks. So he ran out the back door into the sun, shaking each hind foot alternately. (It's hard to believe those skinny legs hold up that middle. Look like pencils stuck in an apple.)
When spouse went out to see him, he came running over to her crying, and rubbed against her. She says, it's like he's saying, "I'm sorry Mom, we had this fight ~ or whatever ~ let's put this behind us." She thinks he's mostly embarrassed for crying so much.
He does cry. He's scared; then unhappy; then some really afraid.
He barely fits in the stainless steel counter sink, where we hose him down while he tries to jump out. He says. "Wow--oooooooo, wow-oooooo!" He looks up at me, like if I were really aware, his little qualities and greatness are soluble, and they are washing away. We are shampooing them out, and he will never be the same. Bleached, leached, dying.
It's a tragedy.
But he's upstairs on the bed now.
And I think he'll have his qualities back, in a few minutes.
Maybe an hour or so.
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