So Kevin’s off on a business trip for a bit, and I’m engaging in the usual behaviors that make me feel better when he’s out of town, like checking the locks eight hundred times, turning on a radio in every room in the house, and eating takeout crab rangoon. (Yes, I know it’s not real crab. It may not even be real rangoon. I don’t care.) There is a large, sad dog in the downstairs hallway staring fixedly at the door in hope that his god will return at any moment. There is a regular-sized, amiable beagle wandering around hoping that Kevin is dead so that he (the beagle) can assume the preeminent place in my affections. I decide to leave them to their respective dreams and take a hard cider and a gardening book and go have a hot bath.
While I am sitting on the toilet waiting for the tub to fill and the bubble bath to become more than a few sad suds, Angus (aka Little Orange Cat) jumps up on the edge of the tub and peers in. I have take a hot bath at least once a week for the entire four years that Angus and I have lived together, and usually he’s not this interested.
Before I have time to wonder whether there is something of interest to cats (and thus of horror to humans—dead mouse, live mouse, giant centipede, etc) in the tub, Ben swaggers into the bathroom and glances up at a Little Orange Butt hanging in the air over his head.
Without even pause for thought—except perhaps “Thank you, Bastet!”—Ben sat up on his haunches and smacked Angus very hard on the butt.
Well, he jumped, of course. Into the tub. Full of about four inches of water. There was a blur of orange fur and very wide eyes as he did that amazing levitation act that only cats above water can manage, tried to jump out, skidded, jumped again, skidded again, and finally managed to get out of the tub. I was very glad that I hadn’t been in it at the time, as I would probably look like I’d fought with a Cusinart. Once his paws were under him, he was gone from the bathroom faster than the human eye could follow. Somewhere in the house, as I write, there is a very wet and very embarrassed Little Orange Cat. I do not expect to see him for some time.
Ben stalked over and flopped down on the bathroom scale, which he owns. I prefer this, as it gives me an excuse not to obsess over my weight in the morning. (Well, sure, I could check, but it would upset the cat! C’mon!) He looked smug. I love him very, very much, but as Kevin frequently says “You know, your cat is kind of an asshole.”
Yes. Yes, he is.
Yet another funny story. (I’m still giggling over “watching my intestinal fauna experience a die-off on the order of the K-T Event”.)
“Yes. Yes, he is.” I don’t suppose you’re a Phineas and Ferb fan?