One day last week, I went out of my ever-loving mind.
I had a few things I wanted to do and low and behold, I got them all done. All those annoying little, "I really need to," or "I should," things were checked off the list. Dh wasn't home yet, so I decided, on a whim, to give the cats a bath.
If you have cats, you're probably laughing at me and shaking in your boots for me right about now.
I actually got two of them washed with very little bloodshed. There was lots and lots of those cat screams of death and huge puddles from when the fuzzy one jumped out and attempted a get away (in vain), but only trace amounts of blood.
They got washed. I got stuff done. Everyone survived. That's a miracle!
2 comments:
Dude. I still have a scar from the last time I attempted to bathe a cat.
That grey cat looks like a rodent with a cry of whom I know. The other reminds me more of my dog. She tries to hide under the bed in hopes I won't notice that only her HEAD isn't visible.
And I'm rolling over the bloggin' cat. That's so you, in a grammatically incorrect, feline form.
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