Asking for It, Part 1

Huw is nothing if not adventurous. He's first in every clean litter box, he's tried out the piano--repeatedly--, and he stands on his hind legs at the back door, gazing longingly into the garden he's not allowed to go into.

Couple nights ago, I had drawn my bath after a hot day working outside. I was still at the sink, brushing my teeth or something, when Huw stalked in, eager to see what was going on. He stood up and leaned over the edge of the tub. And stared.

Watter. Tihs iz teh fass-- fassin-- neet!

A paw went in. Splash! Again. Splash.

I kept doing what I was doing. Behind my back, my brown tabby was apparently thinking:

Ai haz a thurstee. Awl tish watter-- want!

Splash!!!

I turned--to see his front paws in the water in the tub and his haunches just barely, precariously, gripping the rim!

O noes! Do nawt want!

I reached in for the rescue, but too late! Huw was in the drink and going for a brief and unwanted swim.

Ai mint tuh doo taht, he says as he licked himself dry thereafter. Mah poyz, let me show u it.

Whose Bathroom Is It, Anyway?

The hot weather has arrived at last in southwestern Pennsylvan-ia, and Rhadwen has taken up her favorite summertime spot in the bathroom sink.

What am I supposed to do?

I wash my hands in the tub. What did you think?