(Note:  Jeffery LaCroix is a veterinarian with an office in
 Wilmington. He writes a column for the Morning Star
called  "From Paws to Tails."

 Here is his response to a letter regarding bathing
a cat:)

 Dear Dr. LaCroix:  I've heard that cats never have to be
 bathed, and that they have some sort of special enzyme in
 their saliva that keeps them clean.  This doesn't sound
 believable to me because there are definite "kitty" odors
 on my couch and dirty cat paw prints on our white hearth.
 Is this true about the saliva?  If we do decide to give
 "Nice Kitty" a bath, how do we do that? - NSP, Wilmington
 

 Dear NSP:  Fortunately for you, several years ago a client
 gave me a written set of instructions about cat bathing
 which I am privileged to share with you:

 Cat Bathing As A Martial Art

 A.  Know that although the cat has the advantage of quickness and lack
of concern for human life, you have the advantage of strength.

 Capitalize on that advantage by selecting the battlefield.  Don't try to bathe
him in an open area where he can force  you to chase him.  Pick a very small bathroom.

 If your bathroom is more than four feet square, I recommend  that you get in the
tub with the cat and close the sliding -glass doors as if you were about to take a shower.

 (A simple shower curtain will not do.  A berserk  cat can shred a three-ply rubber
shower curtain quicker than a politician can shift positions.)

 B.  Know that a cat has claws and will not hesitate to  remove all the skin from
your body.  Your advantage here  is that you are smart and know how to dress to
protect  yourself.

 I recommend canvas overalls tucked into high-top construction boots, a pair
of steel-mesh gloves, an army  helmet, a hockey face-mask, and a long-sleeved flak
jacket.

 C.  Use the element of surprise.  Pick up your cat  nonchalantly, as if to simply
carry him to his supper dish.  (Cats will not usually notice your strange attire.
They have little or no interest in fashion as a rule.)

 D.  Once you are inside the bathroom, speed is essential to  survival.  In a single
liquid motion, shut the bathroom door,  step into the tub enclosure, slide the glass door
shut, dip  the cat in the water and squirt him with shampoo.

 You have begun one of the wildest 45 seconds of your life.

 E.  Cats have no handles.  Add the fact that he now has  soapy fur, and the problem
is radically compounded.

 Do not expect to hold on to him for more than two or three  seconds at a time.  When
you have him, however, you must  remember to give him another squirt of shampoo and
rub  like crazy.

 He'll then spring free and fall back into the water, thereby  rinsing himself off. (The national
record for cats is three  latherings, so don't expect too much.)

 F.  Next, the cat must be dried.  Novice cat bathers always  assume this part will be the
most difficult, for humans  generally are worn out at this point and the cat is just
 getting really determined.

 In fact, the drying is simple compared with what you have  just been through.

 That's because by now the cat is semi-permanently affixed to  your right leg.

 You simply pop the drain plug with your foot, reach for your  towel and wait.  (Occasionally,
however, the cat will end up  clinging to the top of your army helmet.  If this happens,
 the best thing you can do is to shake him loose and to  encourage him toward your leg.)
After all the water is  drained from the tub, it is a simple matter to just reach  down and dry the cat.

 In a few days the cat will relax enough to be removed from  your leg.  He will usually have
nothing to say for about  three weeks and will spend a lot of time sitting with his  back to you.

 He might even become psychoceramic and develop the fixed  stare of a plaster figurine.

 You will be tempted to assume he is angry.

 This isn't usually the case.

 As a rule he is simply plotting ways to get through your  defenses and injure you for life the next time you
decide  to give him a bath.

 But at least now he smells a lot better.