The idea of washing cats generally draws comments from people along the lines of, "If I tried that, I wouldn't have a square inch of skin left," and that's probably right unless you'd broken your puss into the idea at an early age as I did Skunk and Tip. Skunk was a water-cat by nature. When she was a kitten, she'd jump in the shower with me and go sit on the drain, unperturbed by the rising tide. It was easier to bathe her in the kitchen sink, and thus a transition was made.
On the other hand, Tip was a normal kitty and one who viewed water as something only moderately less threatening than the vacuum cleaner. To acquaint him with the principle, I allowed him to keep his hands on my shoulder as I bent over the sink and washed his hindquarters. Every now and then, I'd make nose contact with him to assure him that everything was okay. Nose to nose and always speaking gently, I'd tell him he was a good boy. With each bath, I succeeded in gaining more of his confidence. Both cats are now entirely accustomed to this ritual to the point that I can step away from the sink to get a towel without fear of them leaping out.
You wash yourself. You wash your dog if you own one. Why should a cat have to endure a lifetime of grease and dust accumulating on their fur? My kitties' coats are as soft as bunny fur, and regular bathing helps prevent hairballs as well. Skunk and Tippy will assure you that a clean cat is a happy cat...at least once they're dry.
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