Photo by Alexander Mils on Unsplash
I have only been to a Spa once and that was years ago. It was nice. The music was soothing and there were juices to drink between treatments. No whiskey anywhere, though. I looked. A stranger did some stuff to my face and someone else massaged my back. There was more, but I forget.
At our house the Spa is open 24/7. We have a cat condo in the hallway right beside the bathroom door. It’s a little house with a roof and a door and a rather large cat could sit on top comfortably, which suits the Heifer quite nicely. Every now and again when I am leaving the laundry room and heading off to my next adventure I will find the Heifer sitting on top of the condo staring at me. She only ever goes up there for one reason. She has an appointment at the Spa.
As she is relentless and will actually reach out with her paw to tap me when I walk by, I know that I will have to deal with her so I gather my tools and we get down to business. It’s not much but it’s her Spa Day and she takes it seriously.
I must brush her face along her whiskers because it feels nice. Altering side to side, three strokes one side, three strokes on the other side, back to the first side and so on, until she is done. Then I must brush gently down her back but with enough pressure to get over the rolls but not too hard so as to spark the interest of the SPCA. The Heifer has them on direct dial just in case. Her lawyer told me.
I must brush her full back and along the sides while she digs her claws into the condo and purrs, arches, rolls a bit, almost falls off the condo, and generally makes it as difficult as possible to get a good shot at brushing from neck to tail with all of her wiggling.
I must then soak a black washcloth in hot water, wring it out just so, and then wash her face and back enough to make her fur wettish, BUT, not wet. Damp, if you will. From there, a bit more brushing to straighten out any fur that got away, and a second go-around with the washcloth which has been rinsed and refreshed with new hot water.
Then the washcloth goes into the laundry, the Heifer gets a kiss and I leave her on the condo while I rush off to my next appointment, which is usually a coffee in front of the computer.
She will remain on the condo, tidying up her fur, tucking things in and generally finishing off the job. When she is done she will jump down and when she hits the floor, both Bruce and I will yell out to each other, “What was that?” We do it every time.
The Heifer will then take her place on the back of the couch, fully restored, energized, ready to greet the world, and she will sleep for 23 hours or until someone bumps the treat bag.
Conversely, Abby doesn’t know what a Spa is and really couldn’t care less. Funny enough, she is the furriest of us all and the sheddiest of everyone here, but she doesn’t care to be brushed. SHE likes to lay in a lap, upside down, and have someone run their fingers through her neck fur. When this is going on, she will purr and pass out, and will wake when the finger combing stops.
However, there have been times when I am heading down the hall and Abby will be the one sitting on the condo, looking around expectantly for the Staff. This will catch me by surprise as I have nothing in my appointment book, but I will stop and chat for a minute and see what is going on in that head of hers.
It really doesn’t take much to get her to leave the area. I just bring out the brush or a wet cloth and she’s gone. I think she has vague memories of hearing THE HEIFER’s purrs and thinks there might be something there for her, but she keeps forgetting she isn’t a Spa Girl.
Oh well, I’ll just keep reminding the little Fuzzball that one girl’s Spa is another girl’s torture chamber and maybe one day she will stop coming by altogether.