A Painting Disaster Story

Yesterday I started a new painting and worked on it for several hours.  I got the sky, clouds, trees, the cabin and a tiny little longhorn in the background, and all the space for the ground covered.   When I cleaned up for the night and went to bed, I Googled “How to Paint Bluebonnets” and learned what I needed to know.  First thing this morning I was ready to go again.  Not long after Ron left for work, I was completely lost in the process of painting the 13 zillion bluebonnets of various sizes that I’d need to cover the entire foreground.  The country music was loud as usual...  The cat was watching me as usual… The dog was watching the cat as usual… But, because the painting is a really big one, I was facing my stand-alone easel instead of facing toward the table like usual… This different arrangement means I have my things in different places than normal.  I was using two different palettes because I kept switching the ground palette and the sky/bluebonnet palette. I’d keep the one I wasn’t using was on the step of the stool beside me. Maybe because the painting was big and my set-up was different, Pounce (the cat) seemed more intrigued than usual. 

The beginning of the disaster seemed to happen in slow motion…

I was holding a palette knife filled with a blob of blue paint and trying to figure out how to make the flower in the bottom left corner when my right hand wouldn’t turn that way. At that moment Pounce decided she’d come help.  My palette with all the greens was innocently sitting on that low step beside my right knee.  Her foot stepped on the corner of the palette causing it to flip up so that the green-paint-covered palette stuck to her (pure white) tummy. That spooked her.  As she tried to get away, I yelled at her.  (Just an FYI… Yelling at a scared cat does indeed not improve the situation.)  As fast as I could, I peeled the palette off the cat, while still yelling… I was yelling, not the cat… Actually, she may have been yelling too.)  

The cat took off down the stairs.  I couldn’t have her running helter-skelter around the house with oil paint all over her! I ran after her.  In hindsight probably a sweet, “Here, kitty kitty,” would have been more effective than my, “Where are you, Pounce!"   Well, of course, she was in that tiny cat-sized sliver of space between the couch and the wall.  And, of course, she was right in the middle exactly where she couldn’t be reached.  She was scared though, and she did trust me (at this point) so finally she came close.  I timed it right and grabbed.  She was not happy.  Ohhhh, Noooo!!! Her belly and leg were globbed with green paint!  I couldn’t just leave it!  If she got free, that would be all over the house.  I couldn’t put her outside! She was a mess!  I couldn’t leave her to lick it off! Oil paint is basically poison if consumed! 

There was really only one choice.  I had to give the cat a bath… the first bath of her life. (And, I’ll interrupt myself here to say that as far as I’m concerned, it will also be the last bath of her life.) I couldn’t cuddle her close because of smearing the paint, so I was holding her none too gently.  Did I mention that she was not at all happy? She was not.

Trying to put her into the sink brought a fiendish yowl.  I fought to find the correct way to hold while she was ripping my arms to shreds with her back claws.  I got my first look at her formerly white tummy and I knew I might be in for more than I knew how to handle.  I poured Dawn (the miracle dish soap as far as oil painters are concerned) on her tummy, tried to hold her head with my left hand and rub it in with my right.  Oh… my… goodness… greeeeeeeen everywhere… cat, sink, bubbles, me…

As if this could possibly get worse, the only logical thing to do next was spray that green sudsy tummy… Can I just tell you that some demonic guttural sounds came from deep within the very core of my normally sweet kitty’s being. And she was possessed by the savage strength of a hungry lioness attacking her prey (The prey being my arm.) She was not having it.  The hand that held spray of water was at risk.  She managed sink her teeth deep into the pad of my middle finger. (I may have mentioned before, but apparently yelling at a frightened, now very angry and very wet, cat does not serve to calm anyone.)

I pried her jaws from my finger and fastened my grip on the scruff of the neck. Perhaps I could stay out of harm’s way.  (I’ve seen the vet’s assistants do this. It looks easy and seems to calm the animal… Ummm… No…)  I didn’t have a choice, I had to go back in for another round.  I had her scruff held tight.  I squeezed a big glob of Dawn, and rubbed as fast as I could while doing my best to avoid those vicious back claws.  The green poured down and then mixed with the red… Wait… There was no red on that palette… Great!… That was my blood joining the colorful flow. 

Pounce made a pitiful sound...  Maybe I was holding her too hard!  She sounded like she might be choking!  I loosened just a bit…  Nope!  It was a lie!  She got my thumb and ground down. (I might mention one last time, that yelling does not bring havoc to a state of peace. Yelling does, however, encourage the dog who has been dancing with glee over this whole scenario, to start barking.)

Once I freed my thumb from her jaws-of-death grip, I was determined that was enough of that.

But… But… Are you kidding me? How could I end this?

I couldn’t dry her off because I didn’t have a towel and both hands were clasped around the beast.

I couldn’t toss her outside because it was 29 degrees and she was sopping wet.

I couldn’t put her in the garage because I hadn’t disarmed the house alarm.  That would be just great to add a loud beeping siren to the cacophony in the house.

There was dishtowel on the counter.  Almost tripping over the jubilant dog first, I plopped the cat onto the towel, removed my vice grip on her and did my best to soak up some of the water before she escaped.  The dog immediately started the chase…. Right… back… up… to the art room…

Poor pitiful little thing… the cat, not the dog.  The dog was delighted with the entire affair.  I wish I could tell you that she was back to being a black and white cat, but alas… she may be black, white, and green for quite a while.  I got most of the paint off, but the stain isn’t going anywhere.  And I am not about to risk another cat bath.

When I dragged my battle worn body in to the bathroom to shower, I discovered that my neck and half my face were green and my arms and cheek had lovely streaks of complementary red.

The cat settled into her favorite chair, but seemed a little… skittish. 

The dog was simply giddy while she kept a close eye on the cat. 

The palette of green paint had black cat hairs in it, and it went into the trash.

The painting is still coming along really nicely.  It’s going to be beautiful... I hope.

And I’m fine… although I’m wondering if the fact that my cat-bite punctured middle finger being swollen so big that there are no fingerprint ridges is kind of a not-good thing.   Hmmm… It’s been a pain to type an “i” or “k” or “8” or “,” (all the middle finger keys)

Pounce, now dry although still tinted green, is my sweet kitty once again..