Attacked by Aliens

We have two cats. Ringo is the Maine Coon, a big, white and orange cat with long, soft fur. A lot of fur. I can't say just how much fur he has, but let me reassure you that the phrase "the fur was flying" is not just an expression. Unfortunately, Ringo is not as fastidious a feline as most cats are reputed to be. Which is to say, in a less delicate way, that he doesn't clean himself very well after using the catbox.

This morning, after discovering dried material under Ringo's tail, we had to take matters into our own hands. (I'll forgive you if you stop reading now.) We put Ringo in the sink and used a sprayer to rinse his nether regions. If you're familiar with cats at all, you'll realize that his reaction was not a good one. It took two of us, one holding him in place and the other one performing the dirty work. (Guess who got the dirty work?)

I'm pleased to report that, despite his struggles and yowling protestations, we succeeded in returning his hindquarters to a more pristine condition. We wonder, though, if he noticed afterward that he was cleaner, and understood what we were up to. Without language, there is a gap between humans and animals that cannot be bridged. Does Ringo suspect us of molesting him? Will he have nightmares of aliens with rectal probes?

There's just no way to know.


Blog Tag: Chatter