The other night I was awakened one night (along with the rest of the neighbours) by a cacophony of cursing and caterwauling coming from within our house.
We live in a quiet suburban area. Muddle had rolled in some fox poo and then decided to come home and sleep in his favourite place, in my humans' bed.
KeKe was none too pleased, as you might expect, hence all the racket as he brushed Muddle in the kitchen sink.
As I recall, it took Muddle another week or so to complete the cleaning process.
Fortunately, this kind of occurrence is rare, as we moggies have wonderfully supple spines and built-in scrub brushes within their raspy little tongues, an ideal combination for personal grooming. Over the years, KeKe and TaTa have spent countless hours watching their evolving brood at their ministrations, for the most part an extremely relaxing experience, but sometimes side-jiggling funny.
One evening they laughed 'till tears streamed at my contortions trying to achieve the "leg of mutton" position in order to wash my hindquarters. For some reason they would scream with laughter every time I rolled over until I finally stalked off in a huff.
If you're not familiar with the "leg of mutton" position, try to beg or borrow a copy of Paul Gallico's book, "Peter and Jennie." It's long out of print, but of all the cat books I've ever read, this one grabs the very essence of cats. Although TaTa lost her copy of this book years ago, I was fortunate to find the "wash" excerpt in Roger Caras' "Treasury of Great Cat Stories:"
The story involves a boy, Peter who, denied a puss by his parents, is struck by a car when running across the street to pet a stray cat. In the ensuing coma, he dreams that he has turned into a cat, and the little stray, Jennie, teaches him the ins and outs of catness:
He was forging ahead so rapidly with his lesson that she decided to see whether he could go and learn by himself. "now how would you go about doing the inside of the hindquarter?" she asked. "Oh, that's easy," Peter cried. But it wasn't at all. In fact, the more he tried and strained and reached and curved, the farther away did his hind leg seem to go. He tried first the right and then the left, and finally got himself tangled in such a heap of legs, paws, and tail that he fell right over in a manner that Jennie had to take a few quick dabs at herself to keep from laughing.
"I can't--I mean, I don't see how. . . ," wailed Peter, "there isn't any way."
Jennie was contrite at once and hoped Peter had not seen she had been amused. "Oh, I'm sorry," she declared. "That wasn't fair of me. There is, but it's most difficult, and you have to know how. It took me the longest time when my mother tried to show me. Here, does this suggest anything to you--leg of mutton? I'm sure you've seen it dozens of times," and she assumed an odd position with her right leg sticking straight up in the air and somehow close to her head, almost like the contortionist that Peter had seen at the circus at Olympia who had twisted himself right around so that his head came down between his legs. He was sure that he could never do it.
Peter tried to imitate Jennie, but only succeeded in winding himself into a worse knot. Jennie came to his rescue once more. "See here," she said, "let's try it by counts, one stage at a time. Once you've done it, you know, you'll never forget it. Now:
"One--rock on your tail." Peter rocked.
"Two--brace yourself with your left fore paw." Peter braced.
"Three--half-sit, and bend your back." Peter managed that, and made himself into the letter C
"Four--stretch out the left leg all the way. That will keep you from falling over the other side and provide a balance for the paw to push against." This too, worked out exactly as Jennie described it when Peter tried it.
"Five--swing your right leg from the hip--you'll find it will go--with the foot pointing straight up into the air. Yes, like that, but outside, not inside the right fore paw." It went better this time. Peter got it almost up.
"Six--now you've got it. Hold yourself steady by bracing the right front fore paw. So!"
Peter felt like shouting with joy. For there he was, actually sitting, leg of mutton, his hindquarter shooting up right past his cheek and the whole inside of his leg exposed. He felt that he was really doubled back on himself like the contortionist, and he wished that Nanny were there so that he could show her.
Perhaps the next time you watch your cat at her ablutions, you'll witness the leg of mutton. But try not to laugh--they don't have a strong sense of humor.
