the vieve and i celebrated our love as most couples do. or as some couples do. or at least as steve and miranda (who are admittedly fictional characters) did.
i gave the vieve a bath. her first bath ever- at least ever in the history of her ever with me. because there's company coming and with the glories of radiator heat the vieve has decided it is the throes of summer and let go all her hair and a considerable portion of her epidermis followed suit. houston, we have dandruff.
when the bombsy recommended a bath, for some reason i didn't think that would be a traumatic ordeal. and for about the first four seconds of the vieve's bath, the bath seemed like the solution to all our problems. that is until the vieve- who isn't always especially friendly and never ever particularly likes being held- realized she was being held in an unfriendly situation.
the shriek unloosed in that bath would've bested a banshee. for a moment i sincerely wondered whether the sink had a disposal of which i was unaware. a disposal that had silently activated and was in the process of disposing the vieve. we survived two minutes before she caught my eye at precisely the moment a tear-sized drop of water coursed down her nose to the nostril that is still inexplicably stained blue from my painting days.
fearing she would never never never in our future forever forgive me, i pulled her from the water.
and then- like the kids i used to nanny who hated being left alone in the dark and would scream until i came to the rescue- the vieve fell silent. she wriggled and turned to face me, put her paws around my neck, laid her dripping head on my shoulder and was completely still. for ten minutes, i stood in the kitchen in the midst of an enormous puddle, rocking this silly little sopping wet cat who won't let anyone hold her.
the end result? the vieve came bounding onto the bed this morning sporting the best hair day ever. and good hair makes any ordeal worthwhile.