"How To"- By My Son Wyatt

The other day I was busy organizing the 7,500+ digital pictures that are on my computer. Yes, I said 7,500. Sickening is it not? Lets just say my kids are never going to wonder what they looked like when they were growing up. But the fact that I was preoccupied with electronic filing was undeniable.

Meanwhile, Lucky kitty, the infamous cat who's twin was killed out on the road, was playing in the house with the kids. Here's Lucky in a tree. He loves to climb trees.


Well, lets just say that Wyatt was playing with Lucky, and Lucky was not objecting in any recognizable form to the games. My son likes to wrap the cat in blankets, carry him around, and otherwise treat him like a stuffed animal.


I was throwing out the usual advice, "Be careful with the cat. Hey, don't do THAT! He may scratch you." and so on. I am a good mommy after all and not totally preoccupied with the computer. It shows right?

Wyatt, paying no heed to any of these words of caution, herded Lucky into the bathroom for some mysterious reason. Then my child went inside and shut the door behind him.

With the click of the closing door, I was thinking, "Hmmmm. Looks like trouble. Smells like trouble. Trouble will follow. It is really only a matter of time."

I called out, "Wyatt, let the cat out of the bathroom."

Silence.

I repeated with a stronger urgency, "Wyatt, you have to let the cat out of the bathroom."

Still no reply. I sat and organized photos for a few more moments. OK maybe a few more minutes longer since there were no screams of terror from either the cat or the kid. I mean, what could they possibly be doing in there anyway? I heard some bumping and rustling, but that could be normal right?

Seeing as how curiosity killed the cat, I had to get up and see just what the heck they were doing in there. One must take into account that Wyatt was trying to pee on the rooster last week, so I would not put it past him to try the same trick with the cat.

Rising to walk the short distance to the bathroom, I could hear running water as I neared the entry. Turning the handle and cracking open the door, I was not prepared for what was inside. Frankly speaking, no parent wants to see what I witnessed.

My child had a sink full of water, soapy bubbles on his right hand and a very wet cat clutched in his left hand. As I looked upon the scene, Wyatt looked up at me and proceeded to gently wrap both of his hands around Lucky's chest. Then he dipped the cat's posterior in the water. Then lifting the cat out of the sink he placed him on the counter and started to brush the wet fur with his soapy hand while carefully holding the front half of the cat with his other hand.

There was water all over the floor. A sheet of water lie on the counter top and around the sink. One wet black cat was held by an equally wet boy. All this in a matter of four unsupervised minutes.

There was no sign of struggle from Lucky. My son did not have his eyes scratched out. Apparently, the cat accepts bathing by children now, among all the other things he tolerates.

"What are you doing?" I asked. I guess this was kind of obvious. He was washing the cat. The better question was my follow up, "Why are you washing the cat?"

I must admit that during this strange encounter, my attempt to hide laughter was impossible. I was chuckling wholeheartedly at the site of the two of them in the bathroom. The fact that my son was not irreversibly scarred for life was amazing. Any other cat I have ever know would have dug it's claws into human flesh leaving five inch slashes and yowled like it's fur was on fire. But not Lucky.

Wyatt then said assertively, "Mom, Lucky's butt stinks. I needed to wash his buttock. I did it cause I needed to." And yes, Wyatt likes to use the word, "buttock." Daily, I thank my husband for that lovely addition to Wyatt's vocabulary.

Since we adopted Lucky, we have noticed he does smell more than any other cat we have ever owned. Actually, I don't think I can remember any other feline with whom I have been acquainted ever having a discernible smell. There is usually an odor in Lucky's vicinity. It is like a special aura. In fact, Lucky might possibly be half or one quarter skunk. He farts like a dog and if you happen to be holding him at the time of emission the resultant stench clings to your clothes for at least five minutes. So it is no understatement that Lucky's butt smells a little. Instead of "Walter the Farting Dog" I could write children's books on "Lucky the Farting Feline." What publisher do I pitch that one too?

"I don't think you should be washing the cat, Wyatt." I continued my response through smiles and restrained laughter. "It's not funny to wash the cat. Really, Wyatt, he could scratch you badly. If that was Shmobie you'd be in the emergency room."

This is Shmobie below. He's a 20 pounder...

"But Mom, Lucky does not mind. Really!" My son had a point. The cat was sitting calmly in his hands complete with water dripping off his back. Or it's just that Wyatt knows how to wash a cat properly.

Nothing had gone wrong yet, so I took this as a sign and I repossessed the cat from Wyatt. I let Lucky free in the living room where he immediately sat down and began to lick himself in a workman like manner. It was just another day at our property for him. Then Wyatt and I cleaned up the flooded bathroom.

I think Lucky is basically the best dog we have ever had.