Slim trudged on down to the machine shed to fetch the lawn mower. Alfred turned to us with . . . well, you’d have to call it a wicked little grin, and whispered, “Come on, doggies, let’s give Pete a bath!”
Well, you talk about something that will brighten your day! The dark clouds just seemed to roll away and all at once, we had Sunshine Forever. What a great idea! I was surprised that I hadn’t thought of it myself. Hey, when times are hard and troubles are getting you down, happiness is just around the corner.
All you need is an annoying ranch cat and a tank full of water.
Ho ho, hee hee, ha ha.
I loved it!
We headed down to the yard, knowing exactly where we would find Mister Never Sweat: in the iris patch on the north side of the house. That’s where he spent most of his time in the summer, loafing and lounging and lurking in the shade. He came out only for special occasions, such as to mooch my supper scraps or to rub on Sally May’s ankles.
As you might recall, Sally May didn’t allow dogs in her yard, but Pete? He was her Precious Kitty, and the little fraud had free run of the whole ranch. He could go anywhere and do anything and . . .
Have I mentioned that I don’t like cats? I don’t like cats, never have, just don’t get along with ’em at all. Show me a cat and I’ll find a place to park him—up the nearest tree.
Or in the nearest stock tank. Hee hee. Boy, this was going to be great! You know about cats and water, right? They hate water! I was so excited, I was trembling all over.
At last, we arrived at the yard gate. Alfred turned to us dogs and brought a finger to his lips. “Shh. I’ll go find him. Y’all wait right here, ’cause dogs can’t come in the yard.”
Right. It was a silly rule, but there was nothing we could do about it.
We dogs waited outside the yard, while Alfred headed for the iris patch, trying to look as innocent as an ornery little stinkpot could look.
Drover turned to me. “What are we doing now?”
“Don’t you ever listen?”
“Oh . . . sometimes. Did I miss something?”
“Yes. Alfred’s looking for the cat.”
“Oh good. Pete’s a nice kitty.”
“Yes, and we’re going to give him a nice bath.”
Drover’s eyes widened. “A bath? Cats hate water.”
“I doubt that Alfred will ask his opinion.”
“Gosh, you mean . . .” Drover thought about that for a moment, then a silly grin rippled across his mouth. “Oh, I get it now. Hee hee. We’re going to throw the cat into the stock tank?”
“That’s correct. Very good. Now hush and watch the show. This is going to be fun.”
We concentrated on the scene in the yard. Alfred walked along the side of the house, peeking into all the shrubs and flowers and searching for an unemployed cat. No luck. But then he came to the corner of the house and peeked into the iris patch.
His face bloomed into a grin. He’d located our pigeon . . . uh, the cat, let us say, right where I had predicted he would be, loafing in the shade. But then the lad made a mistake. He said, “Hi Pete, nice kitty, come here. Kitty kitty kitty.”
Did you catch his mistake? He forgot to use Backwards Logic. See, any time you want to catch a cat, you should tell him to buzz off or run away, then he’ll come scampering toward you and start rubbing on your legs. You won’t be able to run fast enough to get away from him.
But call him a “nice kitty” and tell him “come here,” and he’ll do just what Pete did, flatten his ears and start oozing away. Alfred had to chase him all the way around to the front of the house and drag him out from under a cedar bush.
But the important thing was that we got him captured, and soon we were heading down to the corrals. Alfred carried him, and I could see that Pete was beginning to smell a rat.
“Where are we going, Hankie?”
“Oh, we thought it might be fun to do some exploring.”
“Hmmm. And what are we going to explore?”
“You never know, Pete. Maybe we’ll climb the haystack or catch turtles.”
His cunning little eyes moved from side to side. “Hmm. Those aren’t things that cats do, Hankie, and I’m wondering why I was invited.”
“Well, I guess Little Alfred got to feeling sorry for you. Let’s face it, Pete. You have no personality and no friends. You need help with your social life.”
“Oh really.”
“Yes, it’s a common trait in cats. Oh, and we’ve noticed that you live an unhealthy lifestyle. You never do anything, Pete, and to be perfectly honest, you’re getting a little overweight. I hate to be the one to tell you, but it’s true. You need some exercise.”
Alfred opened a wooden gate and we entered the corrals. Pete had begun twitching the last inch of his tail, a sure sign that his scheming little mind had kicked into high gear.
“You know, Hankie, I’m not fond of exercise.”
“I know you’re not, but sometimes you need to play with your friends.”
“But Hankie, you said I don’t have any friends.”
“I said that? Ha ha. Well, the truth leaks out, doesn’t it?”
“So . . . I’m going to get some exercise, climbing the haystack?”
We had reached the stock tank. I turned a big smile on Kitty Kitty. “Exactly. Or here’s another idea. Had you ever considered . . . swimming?”
Hee hee. I had just let the cat out of the sandbox. Sandbag.
Out of the bag, let us say. I had just let the cat out of the bag.
Chapter Three: Bathing the Cat
Okay, we need to have a little talk. We know each other pretty well, right? And you’re aware that I’m not fond of admitting mistakes, right? Well, what would you think if I told you that I made . . . that is, what would you think if I announced . . . This is really tough, so let’s come at it from another angle, and this time I’m just going to blurt it out.
I shouldn’t have uttered the word “swimming” in the presence of the cat.
There, it’s all out in the open and now you’re ready to hear the second piece of bad news. Our plans for the cat blew up like a can of hair spray in a burning garbage barrel, and fellers, it happened so fast, none of us saw it coming.
Okay, let’s take a deep breath and reset the stage. There we were, Alfred and Drover and I, standing on the cement in front of the stock tank, and Alfred was cuddling Mister Kitty Precious in his arms. All three of us were quivering with antiseptic and trying to bite back our grins, for you see . . .
Wait, hold everything. We weren’t quivering with antiseptic. Antiseptic is that stuff you dump on a cut or wound. It kills creepy little bugs that can make your finger swell up and eat your liver, and that’s why mommies run for the medicine cabinet when little children get cuts, scratches, and aberrations.
Abrasions, there we go. Aberrations are something else, and they don’t require anything you might find in a medicine cabinet.
Words