I'm beginning to suspect the whole thing is just a female conspiracy.
The Dude, with the exception of his requisite chin scratches, leaves me well enough alone. He hardly comes near me, let alone tries to d-r-o-w-n me. In fact, I think he may very well be on my side, since he cringes whenever Curiosa mentions the word "nooter." He also whispered to me that he'll go and hold my paw when D-Day finally arrives.
And my little sister, the Mini Kitten (also known as Vessa, since my pal Fat Eric was wondering), stayed suspiciously dry throughout the whole event.
You guessed it. Today was bathtime. Again.
I really don't give a rat's ass (and if I had one, I sure as heck wouldn't give it up) that it was me who stepped in the poop (BY ACCIDENT!) and started to track it through the apartment. It's not my fault that my fur is so long and luxurious that stuff gets stuck in it. And it's an honor for Curiosa that I let her sleep in my bed, so she's just being ungrateful to say she doesn't want to sleep with a smelly cat. (Besides, the Mini Kitten is the one who drops the deadly cat bombs!)
I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that I have once again joined the ranks of the poor little wet cats.
Don't you just feel so, so sorry for me?
P.S. Unlike last time, there was no bowling bag involved, so Curiosa has stuck to her promise on that one, but I swear to God she uttered the phrase, "I hereby solemnly swear to never, ever again attempt to bathe His Most Esteemed and Benevolent Highness the Dictator Currently Known as Sir Ullrick the Wondercat the III 1/2." Where there any witnesses?