Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Willie got bathed today. Maybe I felt like I needed more misery to make me laugh. She hardly put up a fight. I soaped her up with my best shampoo to assuage the indignity and insult to her catliness.
Cats, after all, feel they are best bathed by their own tongue. But Willie has a thing for rolling in the dirt, laying on her back, belly exposed to see how big and funny the world looks from down there. She comes in the back door tangled with pine cones and dried leaves.
She is a queen among cats, descending from a long line of Norwegian Forest Cats. This I decided in the veterinarian waiting room while we waited to check in with our chewed up dog. The book says it was considered good luck to catch a glimpse of one of these cats in the wild.
This is your lucky day.
In fact Freyja, the Nordic goddess of love and fertility tore across the Norwegian skies in a cat drawn chariot. We simply must assume Willie is a direct descendant of her majestic Norse felines, divinity is in her blood. It is clear to me, my cat is a viking, a gottamn kitty valkyrie.
(though now dry she resembles a dandelion, a cat shaped dandelion in a feathery gossamer spray of black and white hair)
Thank goodness she was all dried up and content by the time Animal Control got here. Who knows what kind of punishment awaits those who so wantonly violate the dignity of such a mystical creature.
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