Secular Zen Buddhist. Preachy. Cranky. Political. ADHD. I don't always do follow-backs, so please don't expect it--it's not you, it's me. Expletive-laden. Accept, or find another corner of the internet. As Canadian as possible under the circumstances. (Avatar image: Cartoon Zen monk in black robes sits, one hand raised in "stop" gesture, saying "FUCK". Header: Drug vial filled with blue liquid, labelled "Peace".) BYE AMERICAN BUY CANADIAN :progresspride_flag:
Secular Zen Buddhist. Preachy. Cranky. Political. ADHD. I don't always do follow-backs, so please don't expect it--it's not you, it's me. Expletive-laden. Accept, or find another corner of the internet. As Canadian as possible under the circumstances. (Avatar image: Cartoon Zen monk in black robes sits, one hand raised in "stop" gesture, saying "FUCK". Header: Drug vial filled with blue liquid, labelled "Peace".) BYE AMERICAN BUY CANADIAN :progresspride_flag:
The cat is clean. Finally.
Elliot is chubby, and has a hard time cleaning everywhere sufficiently by himself. About every two months, it's time for him to have a bath. We always know when, because he lets us know--he growls and fights with his tail, because he's uncomfortable.
I've had a hard time with executive function for the past month or more, so it's taken me three weekends to get around to doing it. It's short, but it's exhausting and hard on my back.
One or two inches of gently-warm water in the bathtub, a washcloth, a cup, and a single squirt of lavender-scented cat shampoo. I never do enough to go for lather, he doesn't need that. He just needs a good refreshing, and a gentle scrub around the southern port, where he can't reach so well.
He's usually very good about it, doesn't hiss or growl or fight or try to escape--until the end, when you've got him on a towel and you're trying to dry him at least partway before he goes out to where it's not as warm. *Then*, he'll growl. He wants it to be over already, his patience is spent, and he's saying, "alright, already! I've got it from here! Open the damn door!"
So now Elliot's on my bedroom floor (I've kept it warmer in here for a while), putting extra effort into cleaning himself all over, which is mostly in aid of drying himself off the rest of the way. But he smells slightly like lavender, instead of slightly like poop, and he's happy.
