Frankie

Yes, Dear…

by Anjie Coates
Photo by Anjie Coates

rankie is a Domestic Shorthair cat and a regular of mine. He’s very large, and due to his size, his owner cannot lift him in a crate so he walks on a leash.
The door opens and Frankie struts in: “I’m here! I’m here!”
“I see that. I need to talk to your Mom for a minute and then we can get started,” I tell him.
Frankie: “OK, I’ll be on my table.”
Frankie walks into the cat room on his flexi leash while his owner is still holding it by the front desk. The leash lifts off the ground and is now the height of the doorknob.
Frankie: “I’m waiting!”

“I’ll be right there, buddy,” I assure him.
“Are we doing nails last today or first?” I ask.”
Frankie stretches his toes and sinks them into the anti-fatigue mat on the table: “Last.”
“OK, well let’s get you cleaned up then, shall we?” I propose.
Frankie: “I need love first.”
“Of course,” I reply as I rub his face.
Frankie purrs and kneads the table.
“We good now? Can we get you washed up?” I ask.
Frankie: “I suppose.”
“OK, face first. Let me see,” I tell him.

Frankie lifts his face to me and shuts his eyes as I wash his head.
“OK, stand up for me. I need to get your underside,” I say.
Frankie: “What if I just lie down? I think that would be easier.”
“It would be easier for you, but you’re kind of heavy so it wouldn’t be easier for me,” I reply.
Frankie: “If I must…” as he stands and we proceed with the bathing process.
“OK, buddy, you’re ready for the table. Now you can lay down,” I tell him.
Frankie: “Finally.”
I slide a Happy Hoodie on his head and fix his whiskers after drying him with a towel.
“Your favorite part, buddy,” I say.
Frankie rolls into a loaf on the table and digs his claws in.
I start the HV dryer and his back end shoots up from the table and wiggles around trying to get in the path of the air.
“Frankie, I’m trying to get you dry from the top down,” I exclaim.
Frankie: “Bum first!”
“OK, bum first,” I submit as I dry his back end as it sways to and fro.
I finish drying him while my assistant cleans his ears and occasionally wipes the happy drool from his face and unhooks a nail when one gets caught while he’s kneading.
“You purr almost as loud as the dryer,” I say.

Frankie rolls on his side and then almost entirely on his back and continues to knead the air.
“OK, nails and then you’re done. You want to roll back onto your belly?” I ask.
Frankie: “No. I’m good.”
“OK. But then I’ll need you to sit upright again,” I tell him.
Frankie: “Fine.”
I trim his nails and do a light sanitary trim, then say, “OK, Frankie, let’s head to the picture room.”
Frankie: “Carry me.”
“I always do,” I reply.
Frankie: “What am I wearing today?”
I offer him a few costumes and chooses the green Hawaiian shirt and shoves his head inside of it.
I put the sunglasses on him and take a few pictures.
Frankie: “Am I handsome?”
“You are stunning,” I assure him as I hear the door chime.

Frankie: “Is Mom here?”
“She is. You ready?” I ask.
Frankie: “I suppose.”
I clip his leash on and carry him out to the front room where I greet his owner and offer to carry him to the car.
Frankie: “I need to get down. I have to leave my mark.”
“No, buddy, you’re done. I’m going to put you in the car for your Mom,” I explain.
Frankie wiggles and squirms until I put him down. He runs over to the floor mats and begins wiping his front feet on each of the six mats that line the front room. Once he finishes with the last one he looks up at me: “OK, now carry me.”
And I reply,