He stinks. He smells like a moving drain. Like a bag of poo. Like the bottom of a mouse hole. Like how a zombie would smell if you ever encounter one. Like how Sylvia Ganush would have smelled when Christine dug her grave in "Drag Me to Hell."
So I pick him up, brought him upstairs.
He saw the door shut behind him and he started to struggle free. Yes, if there is one thing in Phibun Songkram The Cat's instinct that is always correct, its "Door shut means bath." So I put him in the bathroom, shut the door and he started to scream on top of his lung and I swear to God, it sounded like "Hyelp! Hyelp!"
Washing Phibun is always like battling a tiger. He scratched, he clawed, he bit, he tried to slide his way out like an eel, anything. Everytime the cat's getting a bath, all shampoos, creams, soaps, anything will fall on the floor because he will try to hold on to them while getting sprayed by water. It's annoying but had to be done.
As I was drying him up, he looked at me with that death stare, and it is almost as if he's plotting to kill me the least I expected.
2 hours later, he went out. And that's how I waste my time trying to make a tomcat clean.
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"Whatev, mam. I don't give a f-."
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