"The voters have spoken, the bastards."

[serinde]

It was time for the bi-annual Office Cat Washing, a job that as usual fell to Eli and me (in part because we think it's funny). El Blob took his bath in good grace, chalking it up to yet another tribulation of his life that he doesn't really understand. Scuzzbutt, on the other hand, yowled and struggled through the whole thing.

And, upon his release, he marched deliberately to Eli's desk, bypassing his fresh litterbox en route, and offloaded a big ole stack of turd right underneath.

(I cleaned it up for him, in between the hysterical giggle fits. Ain't I a great boss?)

Comments

[marnameow.livejournal.com]

Erm, why do you wash your office cats, out of interest? I only ever bathe my lumps when they've had to wear a collar and haven't been able to groom themselves.

Robot: stands in the bathful of water making sad noises and looking distressed, but lifts paws and moves about and whatnot when I ask her to, and is delighted to be cuddled in a towel aftrwards.

Bear: leaves giant gouges in my arms and I'm lucky if I get her wetted and rinsed before she escapes.

I was always very grateful that Misty never needed a bath, because I'd probably be needing skin grafts if she had.

[syringavulgaris.livejournal.com]

The omnipresent New York soot. It's all over the office, particularly the windowsills and the dark corners they like to go prowling in, and after awhile the white blobs become a nasty dark grey, and their fur becomes new dimensions of skanky.