Still keeping yours eyes on the door, you start to hear a very quiet dripping noise. Turning back to the sink, you realize that all of that thick latex was just too much for it to handle, and it's apparently clogged and started to overflow... with the excess latex dripping to the floor, only inches away from your feet. You quickly back away from the rapidly spreading puddle, but the momentum causes some of the liquid pouring from your paws to fly at your shirt, leaving you with a small splotch of the stuff on it. You reflexively try to grasp the shirt and take it off, worried that the stuff might soak through, but your lack of human hands makes it far too difficult to actually grasp it and all you manage to do is smear more of that gooey black substance all over it. When you notice the sheer futility of what you're doing, you hold your arms out as far from you as you can in an attempt to stop the rubbery stuff from dripping on you, leaving a large smear of it covering the entire front of your shirt.
Walking to the other side of the bathroom, you start holding your hands over the bathtub. Odds are that it'll still clog, but even if it does it should take far longer to fill than the sink did, giving you a chance to think about how to deal with the problem at hand (or should that be "at paw"?). The first priority is to deal with your shirt. You give it a quick look, and feel relieved to see that it isn't dripping, but still want to get it off in case the substance starts to leak through it and comes in contact with your skin. Unfortunately, with no tools at hand, your only option for doing so is to bend over and try to shake the shirt off, hoping that gravity deals with it. The latex doesn't seem like it'll drip at all, but it's still probably going to come into contact with your skin... but that's a chance you'll have to take. Better to lose a patch of your head here and there than your entire torso.
You bend over just enough that the shirt hangs on you loosely, then manage to slip your chin and mouth through the collar. That's about as much as you can do this way, as it's stopped by your nose if you try to pull more of your face through it. Bending over a bit further, you start to carefully shake, watching as your shirt slides more and more up your torso, its fold eventually reaching and slowly beginning to pass by your head. You're very careful to avoid touching it, and largely successful in this, until you eventually reach the point where you need to pull the collar of the shirt over the rest of your head.
You hold the shirt with your elbows by moving them outwards, and then try to manipulate it off of your head. You manage to get it over your nose, your eyes, your eyebrows, all without issue, but then find it impossible to continue as you reach the top of your forehead without touching the latex smear. Hoping to shorten contact as much as possible, you frantically yank it off, the front of the shirt quickly dragging across your scalp and the sides of your head as you do until it finally comes off the rest of the way, falling from your arms and into the tub with ease. The crisis averted, you breathe a sigh of relief.
You almost don't want to look at the mirror behind you, to see just what's happened, but you know that you'll have to at some point. Turning around, you're surprised with what you see. Unlike your hands, the parts of your head touched by the latex haven't changed to be entirely cat-like. Instead, the substance seems to have seeped into your hair even within the scant few seconds that it touched you, tinting it a slightly shiny black and lengthening it to the point where you can't see your ears. Well, lengthening it to the point where you can't see your original ears, at least - a pair of perky, black cat ears has grown in to replace them and now sits atop your head, twitching to hear every sound and (judging by the fact that you can still hear) transmitting what it hears to you. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse - you could have a regular cat head, not a cat-boy head - but this is still far from ideal.
While you continue trying to consider whether you should lament the fact that the top of your head makes you look like some kind of rejected animé character or rejoice at the fact that it doesn't make you look like a housecat, you feel a prick at the base of your spine. Not a cut like before, but a prick. You turn to the source, which (unsurprisingly) is one of those gloves once again trying to scurry away after its minor assault. Not about to let it escape again, you lift your leg and bring your food down on it, apparently knocking it unconscious (slightly less apparent is how, exactly, a glove can lose consciousness). Using your feet to manipulate it, you pull the first aid kit back out, opening the box with your toes after a few tries and then barely managing to drop the glove into it before closing it and shutting the clasp. They may have been able to open it from the outside, but doing so from the inside should be virtually impossible. You're considering doing something about the box, but you soon feel a trickling running down the left leg of your pants. It doesn't take you long to figure out what it's from: now that it's pricked you, you're going to "bleed" that stuff all over your legs.
Surprisingly enough, you don't. Once the trickle's gone a fair distance down your leg, it suddenly just stops and you feel the substance lifting from your leg as it seems to solidify and gain a more solid shape. You soon find yourself feeling increasingly uncomfortable as something pushes at the back of your pantleg, seemingly trying to force itself out. Eventually, the discomfort reaches an extreme, until the thing finally manages to slip out the top of your pants and extend out behind you. It's exactly what you'd expected it to be: a long, shiny, black cat's tail, apparently quite dexterous, wavering in the air behind you. It seems to be connected to your spine at the point where you were pricked, so it seems that the "bleeding" simply stopped once the trickling had gone far enough to form that tail. That's when you realize how important this is: the latex "bleeding" can stop! You turn back to your hands, still hanging over the bathtub, and see that they too have ceased that endless black flood, the cuts apparently having sealed but the paws still remaining.
Having regained the use of your paws, you slip one into the handle on the first aid kit and put it on top of the medicine cabinet - probably the highest place in the room, and virtually impossible to reach for something as small as those gloves. That should keep it there. Now, with all of your other immediate problems solved, you've got one thing left to do before you can work on a way to deal with the whole cat-boy thing: catching the other glove.