H2O + Cat = Aqua Kitty

      

I once told you how much our cat loves to hang out in the bathroom with us, particularly when we perform our morning ablutions. Over the past few months he has graduated from bathroom cat to water cat. As soon as he hears water flowing from the tap in the bathroom sink, he's right there...predictable as clockwork. He sticks his head in the stream of water to get a drink. Hot, cold, lukewarm; it doesn't seem to matter what the temperature is. He's not too successful in this endeavor and the water usually lands on his ears. Finn has to be satisfied with batting the water with a front paw and licking water from it.

Yes, he has his own water bowl accessible to him at all times. I even change the water a few times a day in the warmer weather. He squats down in front of it to take long drinks in the conventional manner for cats. I think he likes to play with water. Sometimes he starts batting the water in the dish around and it looks as if he's trying to scoop it up. Now I'm certain that all cats do not adhere to that oft-said statement that they dislike water and getting their feet wet! Perhaps this cat was a fish in previous lifetime. Funny Finnegan.

If you're never completely sure how much an animal means to you and how deeply attached you've become, I've discovered a surefire test. The other day when I came home from work, there was no sight of Finn anywhere. He always emerges from wherever it is he's been lurking to greet me upon my arrival. I called and looked in all his usual haunts. Then, panic quickly beginning to set in, I looked in the not so usual places. No cat.

I'm the unfortunate type who arrives at the "worst case scenerio" conclusion very quickly. My imagination began to run wild as my brain whipped up the terrible things that could've happened to our cat. I knew I adored this animal and loved the injection of fun and interest he contributed to our family but when he wasn't responding to my calls, I realized that this little creature had become one I loved with all my heart and didn't want to think of his absence from our home. By the time I was practically at my wit's end, into the kitchen saunters HRH Finnegan, the little wretch! He was just fine, thank you very much. My son's friend, Jake, was over at our house visiting and watching the Cub's game. Turns out, our cat doesn't like Jake and beats tracks to the north forty (of the house) when he's around. I'm sure I don't know why. Jake's a good guy. Perhaps it's the smell of his little dog, Cleo, that Finnegan doesn't like. Next time Jake's around and the cat's nowhere in sight, I'll know why.