I skinned 2 cats alive this weekend.

I skinned 3 cats alive this weekend.

At least that's what anybody walking passed the house would think, in reality everybody got a BATH. They needed it, too.

But good Lord, listening to the three of them carrying on like they'd been placed on the rack and stretched out, I started to ask myself if it was worth it. Could I put up with a little bit of smelly rather than put up with a whole bunch of hollerin' and spittin'? Then I stopped to consider how friendly my middle baby, Harlow is. She gets up in my lap and purs when I'm reading, watching t.v., trying to do homework, etc., etc.

Nope, sorry, your behind is getting a scrub. She was the first victim, and while she raised Holy Hell through the floating clouds of non-tearing cat shampoo her little sister ran off for parts unknown and her older brother, who isn't very bright, came into the bathroom to see what was happening. He hung around watching the proceedings until it was his turn to get dunked, and that was when he started pitching a fit, trying to scratch and bite his way out of the tub. The little fucker got loose once and took off across the house, but his back feet slipped on the tile floor and he knocked himself even stupider (stupidest?) against the bar. I wagged a wet squalling cat back across the house and finished the operation.

The little one, June Bug, well, we had to find her before we could scrub her. There was no way she would answer repeated calls, whistles or chuck-chuck sounds we made. Whatever wookalars we were feeding her brother and sister to would just have to be satisfied with a two cat snack. I finally located her up under the dining room table and flushed her out with a broom towards the ready clucthes of my mom, who dunked her butt in the tub just like everybody else. Thank goodness June Bug is just too fat to heft herself out of the tub because that little beast put up one hell of a fight.

Of course, now that she's clean she's also the prissiest.

Beasts.