Today I: A battle

I wrestled with Meow this morning.

It started out peacefully, at least on my end.

I decided to give her a long-overdue wash.  The weather was perfectly warm, 

and she was way too filthy in my opinion.

She started crying for help the moment I threw her into the shower compartment.  

“Fine, I’ll make this quick,” I said.

I rinsed her carefully and rubbed on the soup carefully; I checked the water temperature constantly and never wet her face.  I sang to her, and soothed her whenever I had a spare hand.  Where was the pain?  Yet she still cried and scratched the glass door vehemently as if she was being tortured.

Midway through this endeavor, she decided to climb onto me and curl on my thighs.  I had no choice but to let her be, and keep chasing her with the shower head (I have to always chase her, never grab her.  It’s the only possible way this monstrous task can be done without bloodshed.  Or relatively small amount of it.)  

Her claws was punching holes in my flesh and my pants became soaking wet, but what the hell, we’d come this far.  At least she stopped pacing and scrambling.

But moments later, she panicked (for no apparent reason).  Climbing up to my chest, she stepped and kicked on my clavicles over and again.  

Desperately, she held onto my left arm, slipping constantly and scratching my skin in the process.  I held my pain and calm, and tried to keep up.  

“It’s easier to rinse off the soap under her belly anyway,” I thought, with her front legs reaching up on the glass door and back legs stepping on my shoulder.  Now even my shirt was wet.

When she finally decided to climb back down, I was exhausted.  I wrapped her in a towel and rubbed till just about dry.  She’d had enough, so had I.  So I threw her out of the bathroom and took a shower myself.

There was quite a lot of scratches.  

The ones on my left arms especially annoyed me.  The recurring pain, like nightmares, they scratched me with their evil teeth, snaking through my flesh; They swarmed my veins and intoxicated my cells.  When the world is bright and I am fine, it’s still hidden, just out of sight, somewhere dark and murky I should never figure out.

I became determined I should trim Meow’s claws as soon as possible.  

So I got out of the shower, whisked up the clippers and cat, and got to work.

For the record,

I did try to be gentle, albeit only for 30 seconds.  

Meow was still in a terrible mood, but I couldn’t care less.  Two seconds after I picked up her palm, she started growling and turned her head to bite me. 

 That was really out of line.  I finally started to let go of any soft-hearted feeling that was left.  

“Fine, we’ll communicate in your language.” I thought.

She hissed, and I hissed back.  She growled and tried to strike me, so I cupped her face with my palms and growled back at her, louder and tougher.  She tried to run away, but I covered her eyes and pressed her head down until she stopped gnarling.  I had to be fierce, to force her into submission.  Each time after howling at her aggressively, I could gain fifteen seconds of relative meekness, during which I clipped her nails quickly.

It felt like battle, it

felt like forever. When It was finally over (all eighteen nails trimmed), I let her go instantaneously.  “Scram,” I said.

 

I can’t remember the last time my heart pumped in this violent manner.

Maybe it never have done so.  I oppose any fighting, even as a toddler.

Violence disgusted me, and I refused to fight on principal, even when I was allowed or even encouraged.

But today, to be as fierce as I had to be, I must be enraged.  I must invoke emotions(the great taboo), breaking all my habits and rules. 

And share with my cat the primal rage.

In a controlled setting, and for decent reason, of course.