Nope. Not when you have a one-eyed kitten who is decidedly keen on all things People Food. This afternoon, Esme slurped up a substantial of chicken-infused cooking oil. It was smeared over her chin and chest, and while she happily licked her paws for the next several hours, I figured that was the worst of it. That’s because I’m a bit of an idiot. I’m sure you’re all waaay ahead of me here. A few hours after her illicit feast, Esme began having gastrointestinal issues. Explosive issues. She made it to the litterbox, so Good Kitty! points there. The explosiveness, however, rendered the fur on the entire back half of her body... icky. Very, very icky.
Cut to the bathroom: just me, Esme, and a bottle of kitty shampoo. Her cries were piteous, my efforts to clean her even more so. Poor wee kitty was so good: as upset and unhappy as she was (bloated belly, inflamed posterior, soaked fur) she never turned on me. Sure, she scrabbled at the edge of the tub in a manner both ineffectual and not a little bit hilarious, but she never turned her claws on me. In fact, when I’d rinsed her and wrapped her in a towel to sop up her dripping coat, she snuggled into me and started purring. “Momheymom! You won’t believe what happened to me! Momheymomheymom help! iloveyoupurrrrr”
Alas, when her coat fully dried, I saw that I’d missed a lot of the oil. Another bath is in the works for Sunday (this time, though, I’m enlisting Don’s help). In the meanwhile, I’ve placed hand towels in all the places she likes to curl up. I’m adding supplements to her food to counter some of the effects of the Magical Exploding Poo. She’s still mad playful and adorable and - oh, yes - distressingly stinky.