Ever since he was a teeny tiny baby kitty monster, Maverick has loved the water.
He’s climbed into countless showers, he’s played in the sink at many a hand washing or tooth brushing, he even insists on drinking out of a cup that sits in the downstairs bathtub. None of that water bowl business for him.
I think he’s broken; cats aren’t supposed to like water. I knew I should’ve gotten a cat receipt from that dumpster.
Anyway, little Mavers climbed right into my shower last night. First, very tentatively, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was a good idea (as if he hadn’t done it eleventy gajillion times before). He walked around for a few minutes, staying outside of the main water stream before finally deciding it was, in fact, a good idea. Then he started happily lapping up water, paying no mind to the fact that he was quickly becoming soaked in secondhand shower spray.
Naturally what ensued was some shower cuddling, followed by a cat shampoo, followed by extraordinary and unprecedented levels of feline sulking.
“What is going on? I played in the water, and now I’m somehow….not dry.”
“Nope, no… I haven’t seen any Mavs around here. No more baths, thanks.”