"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."
From this post, here and now, from a moment during the one-eyed kitty's second bath:
"Ow. Ow. OWOWOWOWOWOW! Don, can you unhook her claws? Ow. Also the one on my clavicle. And the one on the side of my neck. Thanks. Ow."
Turns out the fine manners exhibited during Bath the First were not borne of love and consideration so much as paralyzing bewilderment. Bath the Second* roused 'flight at all cost' instincts. Unfortunately, I was directly between her and freedom.
The aftermath was much the same: snuggling into the towel as I dried her off, all the while looking to me to save her from whoever was so cruel as to dunk her into pots of sudsy water. Later, she curled up, purring, on my lap, head tucked into my flannel shirt while the damp of her fur seeped into my pj pants.
Things have normalized. By ‘things,’ of course,’ I mean Esme’s digestive system. She’s bouncy and happy and playful, and her coat is clean and fluffy. Since she’s feeling better, I have no compunctions about sharing pictures of wet and woeful kitteh.
*Powered by Dawn dishwashing liquid, made of grease-fighting power and awesome.