It’s been storming out here in California, which I love (just for the record). The cats, though, aren’t convinced that it even is raining. They keep wanting to go outside, so I open the door, they run gleefully out, are flabbergasted by what is beneath their paws and increasingly on their fur and, for the most part, slink back inside.
This is Nousha. She’s our youngest, by a good ten years, and has not yet decided which she can’t stand more: the rain or being stuck inside all day. So instead of slinking back inside, Nousha will often make a different choice and run out further into the rain. When she comes back in, soaking wet, we engage in a sacred and time-honored ritual.
Here’s how it goes: I turn up the thermostat a degree or two and go to the bathroom, with her trotting behind me. Then I settle in front of the heater, throw a towel on my lap, and she jumps up. She needs some pets after being out in that horrid, icky, awful rain FOR FOREVER because she really wanted to come in ten minutes ago but I wasn’t at the door(!) and if I really loved her I would make it not rain at all. But she’ll settle for some pets. If she’s really wet, I give her a quick rubdown, otherwise I just let her clean herself. Then I try to read, but end up mostly watching her, for however long the heater runs. When it turns off (always too soon), I toss her off my lap, open the door and she runs out, ready to cause some havoc. She’s dry, I’ve read a little and warmed up a little, and we’ve had some good human-owner (haha) bonding time.
Life is good. :)