I thought cats were meant to hate water
After Matilda’s little mistake in the bath, it seems it was the other one’s turn this morning.
I had started to run a bath, when the phone rang. I turned the tap off, answered it, said a few polite and then a few rather sharp words to a telemarketer. Then, as I put the phone down, I heard a splash.
I went through, thinking I would see a levitating cat again – or possibly no cat and fur floating on water. No. There was fur floating on water, and a cat in the middle of it, looking up at me. Stephen was happily splashing around in my bath.
He gave me a very unrepentant look and jumped out of the bath, clearing the side in a bound. Fastidiously he wiped his paws dry on the nearest bit of material – my clean clothes – and then santered out of the bathroom, head high.
I had to re-run the bath to get the fur out. Thanks cat – the least you could have done was to look a little guilty. Why couldn’t you hate water as much as your sister?