It’s been a minute since I posted an update, so here it is: there were adventures for all after Martin stepped in paint.
So I use painting as a coping mechanism for PTSD, something I’ve sorta had to give up since Martin and I are living in a single room together rather than an apartment. My mental health has been bad enough recently that I started painting again. For the first part of it, Martin was just sleeping. However, after I gave up for the day I thought the palette was dry.
It super wasn’t and Martin came out of this with to blue paws 🐾. I immediately grabbed a tissue to get most of it off, but it still needed to be washed off. I swaddled her in my arms and basically sprinted to the communal bathroom(I don’t think she’s supposed to be out of my room).
There was, of course, someone in there and who didn’t see a problem in asking me a hundred question about the cat who was sinking her claws into my flesh.
I ended up taking a bowl with about .25 cm of water in it and trying to dip her paws. I’m typing this still covered in water, hair(hers), and blood(mine). I feel like I’ve been punished for not wanting her to eat paint.