Evil Puddy-Tat

Our cat is vicious. I have the markings, and so does the rest of my household, to prove it.

Vicious.

I am hoping that this phase quickly concludes, and that the lazy, aloof, mature cat shows up soon.

I was not seeking revenge the night I decided to bathe him. I just thought he was looking a little scraggly.

We bathed him in the little sink in the downstairs half-bath. Just before I plunged him into the warm, soapy water I noticed my bare arms and wished that I had put on long sleeves to protect me from his vicious claws. It wasn't necessary. He seemed to almost enjoy himself. We washed, rinsed, conditioned and rinsed without him drawing blood even once.

What came next alarmed me, and I thought I had given him a death sentence. The poor little guy couldn't stop shivering. We rubbed and rubbed, changing to a fresh, dry towel often. He did finally scratch me when I tried to blow dry is fur. Maddie kept him bundled and he finally was dry and running around being a maniac an hour later.

I have been so sick of the viciousness that I didn't flinch when Maddie plopped down on my bed last night and then crammed the kitty into a shoe box. Let him rot!

But the stupid animal actually liked it.

If someone removed the lid, a little paw would swat, and he was able to pull the lid closed on him self. Once. This went on for at least 30 minutes, us tormenting the cat in the shoe box. We dumped him out a few times and he went right back in.

When he woke up this morning, he went right back to his shoe box. Weirdo.