He thinks he’s clever when he balances on the edge of the tub, in between the shower curtain and the liner, and despite warnings from his oh-so-wise mommy that he would fall in one day, he thumbs his paw at caution and insists on doing it. I was relaxing and enjoying a nice, hot, soothing shower when suddenly something thumped into the bottom of the shower, the shower curtain was practically torn off the rod in the wild animal’s haste to escape, and when I peeped out to see what the hell was going on, I barely caught a glimpse of his wet, gigantic, feather duster of a tail zooming out the bathroom door.
Gary wandered in and shot me an odd look, as if I had to be responsible for any chaos simply because of my presence. I said, “Sylvester fell in the shower with me.”
“You probably pushed him in.”
I tried to go back to my nice, warm, relaxing shower, but what is it about a 10-pound ball of fur cannonballing into the tub that essentially ruins the moment?