I found a bath bomb in the cupboard under the sink, so I decided to indulge in a luxuriant bath. I thought the warm water would feel perfect in this overeager Seattle cold. Over the weekend, we apparently skipped straight to winter, and I was like, “Hold up, you guys know that it’s still October, right?” We just gon’ get right down to the 30’s, I guess.
I leave the bathroom door open, so that my cat can enter and exit as she pleases. I run the water, drop the fizzy pink bomb into the tub, and watch it dissolve into swirls of pink. It’s pretty, but it’s also reminiscent of blood in water. But that’s alright too, because it gives off spooky vibes for Halloween season.
I call for my cat, and she comes bounding through the door. That’s something that makes me die. Whenever I call for my cat, she comes eagerly to see what’s up. That’s too cute, y’all. She comes into the bathroom, and immediately, she is concerned for my safety. An expression of worry over her furry face. She sits on the toilet, sniffing the air, and she looks at the bath bomb and back at me and back at the bath bomb and back at me. She sits there for my entire bath, ensuring that no harm comes upon me. She a lifeguard on duty.
Only when I drain the bath and close the shower curtain so that I can rinse off does she reluctantly consider leaving. Even then, I re-open the shower curtain, she’s still looking up at me, and I have to tell her, ”No, really, I’m fine.” She jumps off the toilet and slowly walks out of the bathroom, looking back at me once more to make super sure that I won’t die in the tub.
Looking after a human is a 24 hour job, says my cat. She takes it very seriously.
Not that she could actually do anything to prevent me drowning. She’s still a cat.