This post is Part 2 of 2. Click here to read Part 1 of 2.
The bath really turned into a whole wonderful afternoon.
There we were in the hot sunshine. Soon my mom had her Furminator out. I know this Furminator from when my little feline-brother was alive and living with us. Mickey used to have his fur brushed all the time. The Furminator was the only tool that Mickey didn’t mind my mom using on him. I used to watch him when Jane brushed him; he hated it and brushing Mickey with a standard cat brush was risky business. She would talk sweetly to him, “Good Mickey” everything. He would be okay for a while until suddenly he’d lunge one of his paws, nails first, right at her. She would wrap him in a towel so he couldn’t hurt her. It was always risky for Jane. Until Dad came home one day with a Furminator. Then Mickey didn’t mind it. I saw that he would sit or stand and allow her to brush his coat. My parents would say “He looks like a kitten again!”
Now she used the Furminator on me.
Outside on this beautiful day, mom spent a lot of time making sure I was as clean and shiny as a new copper penny. I had to stand there while she brushed. She brushed under my neck, on the sides of my head, on my back, along both flanks of my long body, my thighs, my shoulders and under my chest, again and again. Each time I thought she was finished and I was free to find something in the garden to sniff, she started all over again. One place she stayed away from was my wounded leg. She also stayed away from the places where I had been shaved and where my coat was still thin and where my skin was still sensitive.
In the end, I was so clean and my fur so shiny that the golden sunlight bounced right off my coat!
People who see me are still looking at my leg and they say “A little surgery, eh?” However, now they are also looking at my coat and saying “So shiny!” and “So soft!”
And of course, there’s Mary, my favorite postal carrier, whom I saw today , who is thinking ahead and saying “Joey, be careful.”