Chad here.
Ok, let me just give you a little background to the cat, Seabass. Seabass is a stray grey cat that I found at the house we're renting just after Jamie moved in before we got married. I found him/her in the backyard lying down amongst some weeds and soon after this cat decided that I could be looked upon as a food source provider. Jamie was absolutely adamant that she didn't want that "dirty, mangy, ugly, mysterious, don't know what it has, etc." cat, but the cat decided it's life purpose was to wait on the porch for cat food or any other leftover we tossed at it in pity. Eventually, Lincoln came on the scene and as he grew up he took a liking to this cat and surprisingly the cat didn't mind a little puppy body tackling it, or sniffing its butt, or barking at it for 10 minutes straight. Long story short, we decide to adopt the cat because its a four-legged body that's mostly independent which has the ability to entertain Lincoln for small periods of time.
So, naturally the bath had to come. It's getting cold here and snow will soon be falling. As a result, Seabass has a stronger drive to do everything in his/her power to come inside where it's warm. We got cat litter, we got cat food, and now we have a flea-less cat. All I can say about bathing a cat that day in and out looks lethargic and harmless most of the time is this: Inside every cat is a baker's dozen of razor-blade claws waiting to convert human flesh into confetti should the fool decide to subject the cat to a bathtub sized down-torrent of water.
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