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Okay, now that we have some instructions on how to medicate your cat, it might be appropriate to consider how we might undertake giving your fur ball a bath. Take a look at the following.


Cat Bathing As A Martial Art

Some people say cats never have to be bathed. The claim cats lick themselves clean. They say cats have a special enzyme of some sort in their saliva that works like New, Improved Wisk - “dislodging the dirt where it hides, and whisking it away”

I’ve spent most of my life believing this folklore. Like most blind believers, I’ve been able to discount all the facts to the contrary - like the kitty odours that lurk in the corners of the garage and the dirt smudges that cling to the throw rug by the fireplace.

The time comes, however, when a person must face reality; when they must look squarely in the face of massive public sentiment to the contrary and announce, “This cat smells like a port-a-potty on a hot day in Juarez.”

When that day arrives at your house, as it has to mine, I have some advise you might want to consider as you place your feline friend under your arm and head for the bathtub. Remember now, this is not the dumb dog who can be led to the tub with lies and a trail of Kibbles and Bits.

Know that although the cat has the advantage of quickness and a total lack of regard for human life, you have the advantage of strength. Capitalize on that advantage by selecting the battlefield. Don’t try to bathe him in an area where he can force you to chase him. Pick a very small bathroom. If your bathroom is more than four feet square, I recommend you get in the tub with the cat and close the sliding glass doors as if you were about to take a shower. (A simple shower curtain will not do. A berserk cat can shred a three-ply rubber or plastic shower curtain faster than a politician can change sides)

Know that a cat has claws and will not hesitate to remove all the skin from your body. Your advantage here is that you are smart and know how to dress to protect yourself. I recommend canvas overalls tucked into high-topped, steel-toed construction boots, a pair of steel-mesh gloves, an army helmet, a hockey face mask, and a long-sleeve flak jacket.

Prepare everything in advance. There is no time to go out for a towel when you have a cat tearing a hole in your flak jacket. Draw the water, making it a little warmer than is needed, as you still have to find the cat. Make sure the bottle of kitty shampoo is inside the glass enclosure. Make sure the towel is within reach, even if you are lying on your back in the water. Blow drying the cat is not an option.


Find your cat. Use the element of surprise. Pick up your cat nonchalantly, as if your intention is to simply carry him/her to the supper dish. (Cats will not normally notice your strange attire. As a rule, they have little or no interest in fashion. If he does notice your garb, calmly explain that you are taking part in a product-testing experiment for J.C. Penney)

Once you are inside the bathroom, speed is essential to survival. In a single fluid motion, quickly shut the bathroom door, step into the tub enclosure, slide the glass door shut, dip the cat in the water, and squirt him with shampoo. You have begun one of the wildest 45 seconds of your life. Cats have no handles. Add the fact that he is now covered with soapy fur, and you’ve radically compounded the problem. Do not expect to hold on to him for more than two or three seconds at a time. When you do have some sort of grip on him, however, you must remember to give him another squirt of shampoo and rub like crazy. He’ll then spring free and fall back into the water, thereby rinsing himself. (The national record for cat lathering is three times, so don’t expect too much)

Next, the cat must be dried. Novice cat bathers always assume this part of the process will be the most difficult, for humans are generally worn out by this point and the cat is just getting determined. In fact, the drying is simple, when compared to what you’ve just been through. That’s because by now the cat is semi-permanently attached to your right leg. You simply pop the drain plug with your foot, reach for your towel, and wait. (Occasionally, however, the cat will end up clinging to the top of your army helmet. If this happens, the best thing you can do is shake him loose, and encourage him towards your leg) After all the water has drained from the tub, it is a simple matter to just reach down and dry the cat anchored to your body.

In a few days, the cat will relax enough to be removed from your leg. He will usually have nothing to do with you for about three weeks, and will spend a lot of time with his back turned to you. He may even become psychoceramic and develop the fixed stare of a porcelain figurine.

You will be tempted to think he is angry. This isn’t generally the case. As a rule, he is simply plotting ways to get through your defenses and do you permanent disfiguring damage the next time you decide to give him a bath. But at least now he smells a lot better.