When you have young children & cats you rapidly get used to odd thumping noises in the night. Something wakes you - a bang, thump - whatever & unless you immediately hear wailing, the tinkle of broken glass or other sounds indicating immediate action is required, the smart thing to do is to roll over & go back to sleep - unless the smoke alarm goes off or something.

My 4 cats generally sleep from midnight until it's time for dawn, or at this time of the year, pre-dawn patrol. Then they wake, tear around for a few hours & fall angelically back to sleep just before our alarms begin ringing. Other than replacing floor mats & closing cupboard doors, there's generally no great cleanup to do. Usually.

I was woken by a soft chunking, thumping sound at some point in the night - something had been knocked over but it didn't sound like it was worth getting up & throwing on clothing in order to investigate, so I didn't. I should have.

Morning bathroom call - pre-dawn. Didn't bother with socks. Almost to the bathrom & I step in something... sticky. Small moment of relief - no one had been batting around the contents of the litter box or had hurled up catfood in my path, but what the heck was it? Turn on lights - a small paw trail of sticky, browish stuff... what the???

No cats in sight. Vermin, the Evil One, known as Dusty when I'm not trying to kill her; wasn't visible & she usually 'assists' me when I'm walking in the dark by directing my steps from between my stumbly feet. Hmmm... unusual that. I go to the bathroom & take care of business first, then wipe the stickies off my foot. It appears to be... MOLASSES? Oh oh......... oh **edited**.

I go get more clothing on - this could be a while. I find Dusty, a molasses covered mess, huddled in the sink - stay there cat, you're about to discover exciting uses for the sink. Go to my baking supply cupboard. My main battle cat, Charlie, all 15 pounds of him is lying sound asleep beneath the OPEN cupboard. EVen though he's lost 3 pounds this winter, he's often overcome by the force of gravity, collapses & snoozes where he choses. Evidently he chose to snooze under the knocked over quart jar, (just opened), of molasses & most of the quart appears to be on him. I tip toe away, frantically trying to figure out how to deal with this without molasses ending up everywhere.

I change clothes; thank God today was laundry day anyway. Vermin is watching from the sink - guilt writ large on her rotten, evil, sullen face. She's told not to move her molasses mottled sorry butt an inch. She doesn't like being told what to do & springs out of the sink & heads off for parts unknown. I start chasing & eventually corral her in the hall corner. She tries to escape into my nice, neat, organised linen closet. I grab her just in time to avert a major linen disaster.

She gets unceremoniously dumped into the bath tub while I throw everything loose under the sink in the cupboard. She watches, eyes narrowed. She doesn't know what's coming up, but knows it's not going to be fun. I shut her in & go check Charlie - he's still sound asleep - probably OD'd on molasses fumes for all I know. Just as well. If he wakes & discovers he's stuck to the floor, all hell will break loose.

I've bathed cats - often. I have the scars to prove it & a Purple Paw with bars hanging on my 'love me' wall. I've removed oil, barf, stuff that should have ended up in the litter box, watercolor paint, bubble bath, shaving cream, whipping cream, (Brian almost died over that one when he was three) & once a cat enthusiatically rolled in a huge bowl of fresh stuffing just out of the turkey & in a big pan. It was bathe the cat or watch the others devour it, I figured, so bathe it was.

I've learned you don't even THINK about bathing cats without two pairs of long underwear, a motorcycle helmet, rubber gloves, leather gloves, solid boots & old jeans that you don't mind turning into macrame. Valium, (for the bathee) & whiskey, (for the bather) is a nice added touch if circumstances permit. In this case - they didn't. If you have a good working relationship with local emergency services, you can arrange for: a) an ambulance on standby, (for YOUR blood loss), b) a squad car, (to assure neighbours that all sound to the contrary - no one is being violently murdered) & a fire truck so that if the cat escapes the hose can blast them out of wherever thet're hiding & maybe clean them while you're at it.

Sadly, few of these things were available. I had nothing but the clothing, gloves, a major whine building & 1 already ears back, narrow eyes hostile cat who does NOT appreciate being locked in anywhere. That & a large cat stuck to the floor, thankfully still snoring...

But needs must... grab every old towel I've got. Every container in the house that will hold water. Fill those with warm rinsing water. Some watered down baby shampoo. Cat treats - yeah right, what have I been smoking? My 4 new pairs of rubber gloves. More towels. Go take a nervous pee. Check on immoblized by molasses cat - still sleeping, thank God. Sit & have some water - there will be lots on me when I'm done, might as well get some in me. Nervous pee redux. Pray to the Great Feline in the Sky for forgiveness - sometimes you MUST wet a cat. Pray that if I must die throughout this process that it will be relatively quick & painless. Hope I don't end up with a wet, supremely annoyed cat ON my head, claws holding it in place - that's happened. Get ready...

Gulp....

Enter bathroom - lock door behind me. Cat sitting sullenly in corner of tub. She doesn't know what's coming but it can't be good. Explain to cat what I'm about to do & why. Watch eyes narrow more & claws assume locked & cocked position. Entreat her to co-operate & it will all be over quickly. Promise her salmon, lobster, steak tartare - if she lets me live. Tail doubles in size. Smile at cat, who promptly turns back & pukes up some molasses. Oh boy, she is NOT planning on co-operating. This is of course, a cat who LOVES to play with water - when she chooses. Obviously this is not her current choice of activity.

Fill rinse buckets with warm water. Line them up behind me - that turns out to be a mistake. Cat still has her back turned, perfect - get her into a pillowcase & gently deposit her in corner while I fill tub. Obviously I wasn't gentle enough & where DID she learn that language? Okay, I'm ready... well not really but I don't have a choice. Check Chuck - still snoring. Molasses getting gummier on him. Back to bathroom. Knotted the pillowcase too tightly - cut cat loose with scissors. Didn't know a cat could squirm out of a 1 inch cut in fabric. They can.

Grab cat by scruff of neck & under belly. Close eyes, think a quick preyer & get in tub with her - I get wet first - very wet. **edited**! Forgot to take off my glasses. Oh well. Soak cat - where DID she learn that language. Soak cat some more as she tried to practice trampoline routines. Help! She's dying! she yowls. Murder, molestation. CALL 911! BY this point - that may be necessary - for me. The pale molasses colored water is dotted with drops of blood. They look small & I don't feel faint. Keep dipping cat.

At some point I manage to grab the squeeze bottle of shampoo & get most of it on cat. Clamp cat between knees - forgot the bugger kicks BACKWARDS & I get some scratches in interesting places. Hope hubby didn't plan on getting lucky anytime soon. Cat clawed through pants, 2 sets of old long johns & underwear. At this point I am grimly glad I'm not male - note to self - advice BriHard if this ever is an issue with him, to wear jockstrap when bathing cat. Remind me to do so next time. Maybe ski goggles might help too. I now have molasases, blood & shampoo in my eyes. Where DID I learn that language?

DH hammering on door wanting to know who's getting killed? He forces lock, 2 unmolassesed cats spring in - see what's going on & flee as though the hounds of hell were after them. I tell him to get out, shut the door & check Chuck - don't let him move. He comes back & tells me Chuck ain't moving anywhere without a jack hammer - good.

Idiot opens dor again - cat leaps, wriggles & escapes - crashes right into 7 gallon jugs full of warm water. Within seconds, jugs are no longer full of warm water. Bathroom & hallway are filled with curses. DH flees to our room - he's only got undies on. He dresses & drops towels on the flood. I grimly track cat - not hard, there's a trail of water. Find cat - on top of teetery dining room china cabinet full of expensive stuff. She ain't planning on coming down without bringing every dish with her. I pull a chair up & toss a blanket over her & grab her. Now my left boob is bleeding - details.

Back to bathroom. DH had the sense to change the bath water. Back we go & rinse the hard way. Think we got it all. Find a dry towel, swaddle squalling cat. I attempt to dry cat while DH cleans water off floors. Can you wring out a cat? BY this point, I'm sorely tempted. Get cat as dry as is reasonably possible - not terribly dry. Make the mistake of relaxing & she takes off. She is found ten minutes later - INSIDE our nice warm, now soaked, flannel bedsheets. Where DID Dh learn that language? Find blowdryer & turn cat into a dandelion seed. That part she doesn't mind but her eyes are threatening dire consequences. Release cat who flees under the tv stand - about 2" of clearance from the floor & probably populated with three dust bunny colonies but at this point, I don't care.

Shuffle slowly & sullenly back to bathroom. Vermin was the easy one - she doesn't mind water. DH helpfully points out that I seem to have a 'few scratches' & would I mind not dripping blood on the floor he just dried? I slowly turn & wipe my bleeding hand across his crotch, then go back to the bathroom. I more or less dry it & put away the rinsing jugs. Bad idea anyway. I sit on toilet & snivel a bit. I will not cry. I'm a smart human. I'm an adult. I've done this before. It won't kill me. The cats will thank me years from now. We'll be best friends again & share delightful, giggly shopping trips. They'll name their kittens after me & toast me at their weddings... I need a drink.

Prepare bathroom once again & return to zonked out Chuck. He is stuck GOOD. How to remove him from floor without skinning him? DH hauls out his longest box cutter blades & I go to work - the floor can be dealt with later. Cat sleeps on & I'm tempted to do some impromptu liposuction. 15 pounds is still obese with this beast. The cat is finally cleared from the floor - remind me to talk to local police about sticky traps...

Chuck - Charlie - is a slow waker. He's in the bathroom before he's finished yawning & in the tub before he sees the water. He is not happy & 15 pounds of furious flabby tabby can still cause considerable body damage to a human. Same routine - trampoline cat, a fascinating blood spatter pattern for the forensics techs should I succumb from this process & much, MUCH nasty language. I wish I wasn't fluent in feline - some things even at my age are new to my tender ears. NO cat, my ears do NOT need additional piercings. This one takes longer - glad I remembered to put my hair up but it's irrelevent at this point - caws have dragged it down & my scalp is developing some interesting Chinese charactor tattoos - Charlie is threatening to sterilize them with fresh cat urine & worse. No thanx. 4 water changes before he looks close to tan colored again - he's a bleached blonde orange type cat. DH stupidly opens door again. Cats squrims & takes off like a 'roid raged ferret. He's too big to crawl under much. TWO blankets before I can tackle him. Back for the shampoo drill. Half an hour later. Cat is clean. He WON'T be dried.

I place cat in tub which is drained - sit on toilet & catch my breath. Mentally write off my clothes. Cat sits sullenly, backed turned, much attitude & indignation being expressed. DH calls & asked would I please come & remove Vermin from bed - everytime he tries, she attacks. DH learns new obscenities from me. Go sleep on the couch or clean the floor or jump off the balcony or something useful, eh? And by the way, I lived in the UK once & the sun is over the yardarm there, gotta be by now - gimme a DRINK! He does & cleans floor. Most of the rest of my linen closet contents is dotted on floors sopping up water.

I atempt to approach Charlie to assist with drying. I am promptly told where to go. It doesn't involve a winter vacation to the Carribean. I retreat with a small mustering of dignity - only my skin is tattered. I quickly down drink, THEN discover DH was overly generous with his measure. Within 15 minutes, that is confirmed. Within 16 minutes I don't care. By 18 minutes, life seems liveable again. I feel able to deal with 2 wet, sullen cats. I leave Charlie & do not attempt to reason with Vermin - simply strip the bed under her, collect her up in the bundle & slide it to the corner of our room - she can wriggle out when she's ready. DH changes bed. I start wringing towels.

Eventually the bathroom is dry - I'm cleaning it in sections now. Laundry is running. Clean, dry sheets are on the bed. The cats are dry & look as though their tails were stuck in a socket. Now Vermin is **edited**ing that I should have used conditioner too. I tell her where to go. It does not involve the Mother Load of Premium cat food...

Charlie is snoring again, exhausted by the shock/trauma experience. I hope he lost another few ounces fighting me. I lost at least that in skin, flesh & blood.

I have infomred DH I do not care what is for supper as long as I am presented with a full hot plate of it at the appropriate time. I further inform him I do not care which child is arrested, stricken with SARS or kicked in the butt by other children today. He can deal. He can do the rest of the laundry. I am worn out, a few spots are still oozing & he may not get lucky for a week - Charlie nailed me in the crotch too & he can KICK! I pray I do not get an infection. I do not care to have to try & explain this to a doctor. I don't mind being laughed at, but that would be too humiliating.

Meanwhile, I see green eye flashes once in a while from strange corners of the apartment. I am being stalked. Evil thoughts float through the air. Revenge is being plotted. One of my fuzzy, pastel centipede slippers was slowly dragged under the bed - someone hoped I'd be stupid enough to stick my head down there to see what was going on. I'm not that suicidal. I may go to the basement & lock myself into the storage room with an air rifle tonight & try to sleep there. I doubt I'll sleep. Every strange noise will be cause for a pounding heart, every rustle will be - in my mind - the approaching claws of two cats in the spring loaded pissed off position. I think I prefer to deal with a bioattack. There are defences against that.

For now... I am permitted to live - only because it suits their purposes. That may not continue much longer. I'm going to sneak out & update my will while I can & have a last meal. Surely even the most evil condemned woman is permitted a last meal, rather than being one?