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Cats may, indeed, be the thinking man’s pet–because living with cats certainly keeps you on your toes!

— Barbara L. Diamond

Stanley’s Ads

No Blotches on This Scottish Fold

What do you do when you are walking around your Scottish Fold who is in the office doorway, he sits up wanting you to pick him up and you have a partial glass of red wine in your hand?

My Scottish Fold looks like a Meerkat

My little Meerkat, er, Scottish Fold at a different time and place.

You know, if you back up to put the glass down on the nearest surface, the moment will have passed and he might feel rejected.  And we all know how he doesn’t forget slights.  (Just ask Iris.)  Besides, he is sooooo cute, sitting up like a meerkat . . .

Well, here’s what I did. 

I leaned over and scooped him up with one arm.  After all, the glass was just partially full.  All went well, until about midway up, when I felt a little trickle of wetness on the hand under Stanley’s body.  I looked down to find there was something glistening across Stanley’s back.  Yep.  In my caring, but sloppy maneuver, I had sloshed some of the Zinfandel all over Stanley.

Suddenly I wondered if Stanley was going to be very happy in a second as I knew I hadn’t bathed him in quite a while.  Like in about eight years. As a kitten, it was a usual occurrence to receive a bath as he was a messy little boy.  He was used to those baths and really didn’t mind.  In fact, I think he appreciated being clean.  A bath was the next best thing to being licked clean I guess.  At any rate, I never liked my kids running around with dirty faces and Stanley was no exception.  His last real bath was up at the cabin, but that’s another story.

As Stanley wondered what was going on, I marched us into the kitchen where I grabbed the kitchen cloth, hovered him over the sink, wet the cloth and started cleaning him off.  First his back, then legs and feet.  I certainly didn’t want his critique on the quality of the Zin.  (Who wants a critic when he’s a little tipsy? And annoyed because he’d just wanted “up.”)  How much wine would make a cat tipsy anyway?  (I didn’t want to find out.)

While Stanley didn’t mind the spit bath, the affectionate mood was over.  So, down he went and I proceeded to clean the dribbles of red wine I followed down the hallway.  That’s when I rounded the corner into the office.  Tan carpet with red blotches.  Quite a few of them.  Hmm.  Now I really regretted my attempt to accommodate my Scottish Fold. 

Back to the kitchen to choose more appropriate cleaning supplies.  And, after some effort, the blotches seem to have disappeared.  I hoped I had done just as good a job on Stanley and was glad Stanley’s coat is black across his back where most of the Zinfandel seemed to have landed; I’d hate to see his snowy white patches stained pink. 

A black and white Scottish Fold with pink blotches just wouldn’t do. 

January 10, 2012

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