Feline + Water =

Things To Remember When Bathing Felines:

1. The personality of a dry feline is not indicative of the personality of the same feline when water is applied.

2. Regardless of clawed/declawed status, felines are able to produce sharp weapons when wet. These weapons are highly effective when used against a human bathing assailant.

3. When combined with water, felines have the ability to; scale walls, cross ceilings, jump to heights of more than 15 feet, and cling to human clothing and/or skin.

4. Do NOT underestimate the speed with which a feline can move given proper motivation (i.e.: escape from water). Water appears to accelerate the feline vascular and muscular systems, which results in motions that appear – to the human eye – as furry blurs.

5. Felines are – as a general rule – more intelligent than the average human. This means that one must proceed with EXTREME CAUTION when executing Plan B(ath). It is ESSENTIAL that every contingency be planned for.


As a veterinary assistant, one of the many roles included in my rather vague job description was that of animal groomer. This was a position that I usually enjoyed, as it kept me busy in a back room, and I could always claim that I couldn’t hear the phone, or the calling of the Doctor, because the "water was running" or the "blow-dryer was too loud." Unfortunately, I could not control the clientele, and on occasion I found myself in the unenviable position of having to bathe a creature of the feline variety.

Oddly enough, most cat-owners do not care to bathe their own pets. I can only speculate that this might be because they fear for their lives, or – at the very least – for the more sensitive portions of their anatomy. These people would inevitably put on an elaborate show when setting up the grooming appointment, and again when dropping their cat off at the clinic.

"Oh, normally I would give Buffy a bath myself," they would sigh, averting their eyes guiltily, "but we have family coming from out of town and I absolutely have to get the house clean. I just don’t have time to do it right now… But Buffy needs to be clean for our guests!"

Glancing at the chart, I would see that Buffy had been in for a bath every four months for the past five years. I would also see the blood splattered around each entry. Sometimes the note would be nearly illegible; the poor scribe no doubt suffering from severe loss of blood and unable to hold the pen properly.

Resigned to my fate, I would accept the docile-appearing Buffy, carting her to the back area of the clinic. As we traveled through the rooms, Buffy’s feline radar would alert her to the presence of water and bathing products, and a low, eerie growl would begin to rise from the depths of the pet taxi. By the time we would have reached the bathtub, Buffy would have transformed completely. Glancing into the front of the carrier, I would see the Feline Version X: Water Avoidance Deluxe Model.

This was never a pretty sight. It involved electrified fur, which had the ability to stand straight and stiff from each follicle. Ears would – without fail – be sucked back into the head, resulting in a strange, earless, slit-eyed monster. This creature emitted sounds that could only have originated in the bowels of hell. Low moans, piercing wails, shrieking growls: The vocal range was astounding.

There were ways to prepare for the Human vs. Feline battle that was ahead, but it was a guarantee that I would sustain some losses, even with the best battle plan. I had, throughout the course of my cat-bathing traumas, discovered an apparatus that some (undoubtedly scarred) genius had developed: the feline-bathing cage. This brilliant mechanism was designed to hold a cat inside, but left plenty of space for water, human hands, and shampoo to reach inside. Unfortunately, anything entering the space was also exposed to the Feline Fury that was trapped within.

Still, taking all dangers and damages into account, the cage was the only viable option. Since Buffy (or whoever it might be) would be in "a state" even before entering the cage, the transition from carrier to cage was always exciting. It usually involved holding the carrier by one end and pummeling the same end in order to knock the feline out. The feline, meanwhile, would be using its Super Feline Powers to remain affixed to the very same end of the carrier. This could, and usually did, go on for quite some time. If the cat was finally dislodged, I would have to move very quickly in order to trap it with the towel – an essential piece of equipment when dealing with many hostile animal species.

The move from towel to cage was considered a success if – at the end – I bled from no more than four puncture wounds. With the spitting feline under moderate control within the bathing cage, I would don the best defense available for the next phase of the process: the plastic shampooing gloves. These gloves were more of a morale boost than any real defense; they were generally hanging in tatters within moments of their descent into the bath territory. Still, I would persevere, the end in sight… until the flailing feline splattered shampoo into my eyes, effectively blinding me and allowing it to sink its teeth/claws/all of the above into the closest available flesh.

After a grueling battle, Buffy and I would be exhausted. Still, the feline nature does not allow for surrender – a fact that both Buffy and I would be all too aware of. The final step of the torture process was the blow-dryer. This hot-air producing wonder was attached directly to a cage, which the wet cat was most often quite eager to get into, as it involved getting out of the now-hated "bath cage." Within moments of entering the new cage, the cat would realize its mistake, and the fury would be released. The Sounds would begin, accompanied by The Clawing. The Clawing did little damage to the Plexiglas cage front, but the noise that it created was far from pleasant. In combination with the freakish howling, it was downright disturbing.

After an excruciatingly length of time, I would cease the air flow and eye the creature within the cage. By this time, Buffy would have settled into the "fake calm." This is – of course – the most dangerous state that a feline can enter. On the exterior, nothing appears amiss. Instead, the animal radiates a practiced, controlled lack of response to stimuli. This is most deceptive. At this point, the feline is likely to explode – without any prior warning – into a violent ball of fur, claws, and teeth.

Once the creature is in the "fake calm" state, it is a guarantee that the owner will show up to collect their precious cargo. This necessitates a speedy transfer of the cat from the dryer to the carrier. During this transition, I anticipated the loss of several pints of blood, a pound or two of flesh, and some hair and/or nails.

Moments later, I would limp from the back area, Buffy safely ensconced in her taxi. Buffy, upon spotting her owner, would instantly assume the "sweet" personality that she had found to be most effective with her humans. I, meanwhile, would force a smile as I handed her over, blood dripping from the scarlet scratch splitting my cheek. As the client shot toward the door with a final guilty glance over her shoulder, I would turn with a sigh to retrieve Buffy’s chart. Opening it, I would make a note – in pen – detailing Buffy’s bathing experience, doing my best to avoid the drops of blood.