hell hath no fury like a wet cat

Long ago, when the cat first moved in, someone sent me a comic strip that said "God gave us dogs to remind us to get outside and cats to remind us to sit and enjoy the moment". Tonight, after a day which may best be remembered as "the day I could do nothing right", I did both.

When I got home from work the cat, sensing my mood, disposed of his usual tear up and down the length of the apartment and sat on my lap, purring, while we watched the light change. After a while of that, with some self-pity thrown in for good (bad?) measure, I roused myself and headed to my sister's to take her dog for a walk in the park. Chevy ran ecstatic circles around me while I rediscovered the smell of earth, the sound of my shoes squelching in deep mud puddles, and the pink sky of sunset framed by the forest instead of city buildings.

I also met George who greeted me by wrapping his jaws around my right thigh. Any other time, that might be the prelude to a damn fun night but George was a dog. A very big dog who his owner introduced as a "real mr. grumpy-boots" which, I suppose, is more positive than introducing him as "rabid". A hug from my sister, a phone call from my cousin, a deep breath of spring in the air, and the pure, unadulterated joy of dogs running in the park helped make the events of "the day I could do nothing right" melt away.

I also discovered something that the comic strip forgot to mention: nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING, can top the sight of a cat falling into a bathtub full of water. That shit is gold.