I have a cat. His name is Cheddar. He is a fluffy, soft, lovable orange striped cat seen in the following pictures. Yes, he is a joy. And no… you can’t have him.
But then there’s this other cat…
Robin has a cat. He is a beast. And yesterday I received the mark of the beast. (Revelation punn.) Or for the sake of argument we shall call it THE MARK OF THE BOOTS.
While Boots can carry some pleasurable aspects to his character, yesterday he failed to show any. Last night after jumping on my leg at feeding time, spilling his dish of food and dumping his water bowl, Boots got evicted from the kitchen. Then, after dragging a bag of trash about the house, Boots found himself happily residing in the bathroom for an hour. [The ultimate torture chamber.] Upon coming out of the bathroom, I noticed that Boots had hit his right cheek bone on something and now had a swollen right cheek, causing his eye to remain closed. [Great! Now it looks like I beat the cat.] ~~ For all you extreme animal lovers… no fear.. He looks normal this morning.~~
Well, the fun did not end there.
In discussing Cheddar’s recent rough neck [not a derogatory term, but a description], we discovered via the ever-useful flea comb, that our furry friends had fleas. FANTASTIC! How or where they got it from is a mystery to us both. We think it could have been their trip to the vet. Nonetheless, a flea dip was in order. And that is where I received THE MARK OF THE BOOTS.
Boots was the first one to get dunked. He always prooves quite “challenging” in the bathing process, so I like to get him done first. Afterall, if we can survive Boots, we can survive anything. [Little did I know how acurate that thought would be.]
The howling and fidgeting began with the first introduction to water. [It sounded liek we were killing him one hair at a time.] He calmed down for a little bit as Robin and I went through the choriographed cat-dipping routine. Then came the outburst of craze and it happened… Yes… Boots bit me. My right arm has a lovely perfect row of cat teeth pressed into it. And yes, he broke skin. And yes, I was grateful that he was up to date on his rabbies and other vaccines. And yes I wanted to spike him. And no, I didn’t. But let me tell you what… in all the times we’ve bathed him, I have always been closest to the mouth. But never once have I fallen victim to THE MARK OF THE BOOTS. Oh I have received my share of deep five-claw scratches. But never teeth.
So now I am branded.
The mark of the Boots is upon me.