The rains came down and the floods came up, and I did not complain. The kittens played on the porch to avoid wet grass on their feet, gardenia leaves brushing their faces, and dripping rain on their soft kitten fur.
The kittens like water if they are drinking it, particularly with a dripper. But bathing the kittens, as was suggested by the rescuer and also the kitten book, not so much.
The first baths were sweet as the kittens held out legs and arms and uttered frantic squeals. The second bathing was quickly ended when Harry, the male and larger of the two, took those sweet, little clawed paws and slivered my hands and forearms. That evening Wilhelmina did not get a bath and I vowed, “Never again,” even though I luxuriated in Harry’s soft, sweet-smelling fur.
OK, I tried it one more time, taking Harry first, which in hindsight was a mistake. Again, Wilhelmina did not receive her bathing. Afterwards, I determined now that Harry was bigger and stronger, I would only bath him if I got a nice set of falconer’s gloves for Christmas. I quickly removed Harry from the water and toweled him off briefly. No blow drying; he could dry himself. Later we nuzzled; his fur was as silky as that of the “Breck Girl.”
At the clinic where we are completing our series of four kitten shots, I asked the technician her opinion of bathing kittens. The book says start bathing the kittens when they are little so they will be used to it, but these kittens are not getting used to it, I told her.
The technician replied, “Well, if they don’t enjoy being bathed then I would think it is tortuous and that they only need to be bathed if they’ve gotten into something. Besides, they’ll bathe themselves.”
I agreed bathing was tortuous for all of us, and since Wilhelmina was missing out on the bathing anyway, and as I ended up nursing myself with hydrogen peroxide after each bathing episode, we would suspend bathing until absolutely necessary — or I was the owner of falconer’s gloves.
In all other aspects, adopting Harry and Wilhelmina has been deliriously wonderful. Harry is a lap kitty, and that makes me happy. He is the one that gets scared at loud noises and strangers.
Wilhelmina doesn’t like to be picked up but sits on the couch beside Sam, or over his shoulder. Wilhelmina is not easily scared, although very cautious. Wilhelmina tires easily; Harry is rambunctious. Like young children, the kittens are on a schedule. Every morning they are released from their sleeping quarters where they bust out like it’s Christmas morning. I don’t know who likes welcoming them to the day best, Sam or me.
They have feeding, playing times and catnaps. Between 8 and 9 o’clock at night (we are all still adjusting to the time change), they are ready to be put to bed where they are not heard from until the dawning of the new day.
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