call her frickin' Dr. Doolittle

One weekend afternoon
Grace comes downstairs with a couple of scratches on her face. I ask her what happened. She answers in a ticked off manner that "Gordon did it!"

Later that night
Kris and I head upstairs to bed and meet Gordon in the hallway. He looks like he's wet in several places. When I touch him, he's feels greasy in some places and crusty on the top of his head. I proceed to clean him up with baby wipes and the crusty stuff on the top of his head comes off black on the wipe.

The next morning
I ask Grace what happened to Gordon and she replies that she doesn't know. I continue on by telling her that I know she put something on him and she needed to tell me what it was. She takes me to her bathroom, hands me her froggy handsoap dispenser and says she only put soap on him. I believe it for the greasy spots...not so much for the black stuff on top of his head.

Later that morning
I take a shower and get myself ready to venture out of the house that day. As I pull my mascara wand out of the container, I see it is interlaced with cat hair.

The theory
Gordon always retreats to under our bathroom cabinet to get away from the kids...he learned long ago how to open the door and sneak in with the door closing behind him. I usually find him with his face near the back while his back feet and tail stay near the door. I picture my little cat whisperer giving Gordon beauty tips while crouching near his back feet and getting scratched in the face by his back claws...the only ones he has.

That child will never learn. Luckily, though, the cat has...he's learned that it is way easier to get away from the dog than get away from the kids and has started to spend more time downstairs again under my watchful eyes. And I see a glimmer in his blue eyes every time he manages to land a little blondie in time out.