Young Deidre (our tabby cat who is, in fact a boy):
has developed a proclivity for walking through/lying in cow shit (apologies, but what else do you call it?) to the point that he is banned from most rooms in the house and can be tracked by filthy paw prints and general greenish mess. This morning the situation had got beyond a joke so I declared that, before I went to work, it was bath time.
Most of you will probably know that cats don't like water and definitely don't like baths.
Cats also have 4 limbs which can be used as anchors to avoid getting into water and these anchors have damn sharp claws on the end of them.
I prepared myself by putting on a plastic apron and rubber gloves. FB thought he'd be OK in shorts and t-shirt. I offered him an apron and gloves. He declined both.
After lulling Deidre into a false sense of security by allowing him to eat his breakfast in peace, I grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him into the kitchen sink (by now full of warm soapy water). The 4 anchors immediately went out to all places except in the water but, even so I managed to get his rear end and tail (the most disgusting bit) into the water. FB shoved a couple of the anchors into the water as well.
Have you ever heard a cat growl? FB and I have.
He was not pleased. We kept him in there for - ooh - a good 15-20 seconds before he gathered all his supercat strength, lashed out at both of us and shot out of the kitchen, leaving a wet, muddy trail after him.
FB and I then mopped up the mess, stemmed the bleeding, applied plasters to ourselves and (I) attempted to stop laughing. A wet, cross cat is very, very funny, especially when one's other half has a sense of humour failure due to the lacerations on his hands having refused my offer of rubber gloves.
Deidre has yet to come home. We hope he's now washed himself and will come home slightly cleaner than he was this morning. If not - he has been warned.
So, following on from that I headed off to work on my trusty bike. It was very, very foggy and half way down the second field I met a cow. This is fine, you would think, on a dairy farm, but this cow was definitely not where she was supposed to be (eating grass with her friends). This cow was on a mission. This cow was going exploring.
I phoned the farmer but had forgotten he was away. He phoned his men. By this time the cow had gone to the bottom of the lane and was heading for the road. (Cows can move fast when they want to.) I followed her at a distance but couldn't phone anyone to tell them as we have very poor/non existent mobile reception down our lane.
Mrs Cow kept on going and, before too long, was on the main road. When I say "main road", clearly we're not talking about the M25 here but, even so, too much of a main road to have a lonesome cow going walkabout. By now FB had joined me and he dumped the car and legged it after her but she was trotting happily towards the local village and the farm workers had arrived so I got back on my bike. Unbeknownst to us, she had detoured into a welcoming field so, whilst the men trawled the village, I met her again on the road.
Frantic phone calls later and we all merged into the same point - FB and I driving her back towards the farm and the farm lads hurtling on behind. I think she'd enjoyed her little break out but the sight of a load of houses had unnerved her (thank goodness).
I have no idea what the people waiting at the bus stop thought when FB stopped and asked them if a cow had come past!!
She is now back with her girlfriends and, after all that, I went to work.
Never a dull moment in the country!
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