Luther was a mighty bad boy Monday. MIGHTY bad.
Among my many chores that afternoon, I wanted to paint the floor of a downstairs closet. The wood floor in there had been painted before, and I knew I had the oil-based paint on hand, left over from when I did the sun room floor.
You might guess where this is headed...
I put the first coat down. It stunk to high heaven. Most cats I've had in the past don't need any encouragement to steer clear of such a chemical odor. I needed to keep the door open for it to dry, but I blockaded the entry with a variety of objects.
Just in case.
I opened all the windows, then left to mow the front lawn. After wrapping up with that, I trudged up the hill, looking forward to relaxing with a cold iced tea in the half hour or so I had before running out to pick up my neighbor from work.
I came in the house to find Cocoa Beach enamel paint pawprints in a variety of locales, including the oak floor in the kitchen, the fir floor in the living room, my Moroccan rug, a bamboo mat in the sun room and even the black dining room table! Oh, yes, and on the stairs as well.
Oh, naughty, naughty boy!
After a major freak-out/panic attack, I found I could remove the paint simply by scrubbing hard with a DRY paper towel. The exception was the bamboo mat; the rapidly drying, sticky paint had gotten in between the narrow slats, so on that I had to use some toxic smelling, gasoline-based Goof Off, which worked well. (Afterwards, I closed off that room, left the windows wide open over night and everything was fine in the morning.)
But no, the challenge wasn't over yet, because I realized Luther must have oil paint on all that long fur growing in between his toes. It's a Maine Coon thing.
I had to straddle him, first facing his most unhappy scowl, then facing his rear, and hold up each paw to snip away the paint-soaked fur with a pair of scissors. He was most upset about that. There was a lot of moaning and hissing, but to his credit, he did not try to scratch or bite me, for which I'm grateful.
I made two passes at clipping off the fur, but I knew I couldn't get all of it. Not sure what else I could have done, aside from taking him to the vet to have them anesthetize him and do a more thorough job. But that seemed like an extreme measure, and anesthesia presents its own risks.
He seems fine now.
I put a second coat on the closet floor yesterday and he hasn't shown the least interest in it.