When I was a kid we had a cat named George McGovern that loved the dryer. One day my mom was in a rush, and slammed everything from the washer into the dryer and started the thing up. There was all this thumping, so she opened the door and out came poor McGovern all wrapped up in wet sheets, and totally freaked out!
Mom, being a Nebraska farm girl, gave him some warm milk with a little whiskey (her standard veterinary treatment for everything from dryer riding to giving birth. My parents were terrible pet owners) and he was fine, but he never got in the dryer again.
My current cat (Sputnik) has no interest in the dryer. He spends most of his life on the Hide-a-bed in John's office, and has nothing but contempt for all those yappy little dogs we insist on keeping. Since he weighs more than the three of the dogs together, they keep their distance.