Over the weekend, I gave baths. Otis, Eliot and Buxton all got baths for a reason I’d rather not get into but rhymes with shmingshmerm and comes with its own theme song that goes “Oh good (profanity)(profanity) why is this happening to meeeee why why (profanity) why?!”
It’s a catchy little tune.
(You can read more about shmingshmerm in cats. It’s not a shmerm, it’s a fungus, etc.)
Following the vet’s direction, I got a special shampoo to give the afflicted kittens a bath. But not just a BATH – you get the kitten’s fur wet, put the shampoo on, leave it on for 10 minutes and then rinse it off. It’s a whole PROCESS.
I had decided that I would bathe Eliot first, and once I got the shampoo in his fur, I’d wrap him in a little towel and carry him around for 10 minutes, then rinse him, put him on a heated bed, and do Otis and then Buxton. Except that about 1 1/2 minutes into being carried around in a towel, Eliot was 100% over me and my nonsense, and wanted me to PUT. HIM. DOWN. I ended up putting him in the bathtub on a towel, figuring I could wet/shampoo the other two, and by the time I was done with them, it’d be time to rinse him, and so forth. I wet Otis down, applied the shampoo, and put him in the tub with Eliot and the two of them sang a chorus of Why Hast Thou Betray’d Us while I went to get Buxton.
The tub in the hall bathroom (where all of this was taking place) is fairly deep and they’re still pretty small kittens, so I didn’t bother to close the glass doors to keep them contained because I didn’t think I needed to. After I put Otis in with Eliot, I went to the foster room, grabbed Buxton, and as I headed back to the bathroom, an irate little Otismallow came stomping out the bathroom door with places to GO, things to DO, and get outta my WAY.
I put Otis back in with Eliot, wet and shampooed Buxton, and as I added him to the Bathtub of Betrayal, the timer on my phone went off letting me know that it was time for Eliot’s rinsing. That went fairly quickly and easily, and I put him on the heated bed (where he had no intention of staying, preferring instead to stomp angrily around the bathroom looking for a way out) and cleaned the bathroom sink and counter while waiting for Otis’s turn.
Otis was so cute that I couldn’t resist taking a couple of pictures.
Curly boy.
Once they were all rinsed and towel-dried I wrapped them all up together in a towel and took them into the foster room, where Arundel mothered them a little.
At this point, I’ll be bathing them every third day, and applying topical spray to their spots three times a day. Not to mention scrubbing down the foster room every couple of days, mopping with Rescue disinfectant, washing all their bedding every day, and wiping down their toys.
Oral medication is a possibility, but they’re so little that I wanted to try this first before going that route.
So if I seem a little distracted lately, it’s likely between the upper respiratory infections, Buxton’s swollen eye (which thankfully is very slowly getting better), Otis’s swollen eye (which is a lot better) and just generally being a worrywart, my brain’s been somewhat occupied.
(I have been exceptionally lucky until now – except for the occasional spot on the occasional kitten, I haven’t really dealt with shmingshmerm in the past, certainly not to this extent, and on this many kittens!)
(If you’ve dealt with ringworm and have some secret solution, feel free to share. I’ll probably stick to the plan for now, but I’m all ears!)
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Millie takes a bite outta Arundel.
Lap full o’ kittens.
Sleepy Dexter.
Rub da belly.
Arundel’s face is cracking me UP.
Hanging out on the tree.
Bethel in the Tiny Basket. Her eyes continue to be an amazingly gorgeous color.
Eliot loves that bed.
I just love this floofy little muffinhead so very much.
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Maxi is firmly of the opinion that if you lay down with kittens, you’re gonna get up with shmingshmerms.
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Previously
2017: Mama needs a minute, kids.
2016: No entry.
2015: Then Carlin came along and was all “WHAT IN TARNATION IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”
2014: “I am anti-shenanigan.”
2013: “Hey guys, look! I gots poop between my toes! It’s a poopicure!”
2012: Could it be Sheriff Mama, who used to be on the side of good, but has apparently gone over to the dark side?
2011: No entry.
2010: No entry.
2009: “Hey, guys! There are BIRDS out there!”
2008: Truly, he is SUCH a Momma’s boy.
2007: The worst part of the whole experience was finally getting hold of Tommy and starting to climb down the fence, and Tommy losing his mind, clawing at me, getting free, and leaping onto the ground from about ten feet up.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.