Last night, I washed Marigold's (really old cat) face and brushed her long Persian fur. I brushed Sonic (ten year old boy cat) and cleaned his ears. I tried to trim the kitten's nails, but he wasn't having it. Then I decided to groom myself with a shower, hair-washing, shaving my prickly legs, removing old nail polish that started to chip, thoroughly flossing and whitening my teeth. The whole time, this song was stuck in my brain.
When I felt so good, fresh, clean and groomed, Sonic (ten year old boy cat with all kinds of anxiety) decided to spray smelly kitty urine* under Chad's side of the desk. I got to climb under the desk in my pajamas with a flashlight, Nature's Miracle cleaning spritz and a roll of paper towels to clean up the stinky spray. This was stuck in my head:
*Sonic has been to the veterinarian about the urine spraying. He always gets an excellent bill of health. He does not spray because of any type of infection or illness. His spraying is purely behavioral. He is also a resource guarder: blocking the other pets from food, water, litter boxes, the good toys. He was neutered at seven months old. Sonic is a fifteen-pound bruiser of a cat who started life as part of a feral cat colony. He is also our only cat allowed outside. He has a waterproof, heated little house on the deck with dual exits. I fear if we forced him to live only inside, our entire house would end up covered in his stinky musk.