Miss Bess
There are those who say you do not choose a cat but that the cat chooses you. Perhaps this is true. It does not seem to matter now though, she is here and that is what ultimately matters. I picked her out of a litter, or if you like to believe, she picked me. She was the runt you see, so tiny with her splotchy coat of black, white, brown and orange marking her as a calico. Her skinny limbed body showed her ribs as the other kittens would not let her close to feed regularly from her mothers’ milk. I immediately knew I had to have her. I named her Miss Bess, as nothing else I came up with seemed to fit her so. I don’t know if it is her real name but she seems to come when I call her so I guess she likes it well enough.
Over the next while she grew into her paws and became a beauty. I laughed at her antics and her curiosity; she was forever getting into things. I once came across her in the midst of my costume jewelry. She was a tangle of gold bangles about her neck and pearl necklaces decorated her body in loops of purple and blue. Rhinestone combs had gotten twisted in her fur and hung in strange angles. She looked at me hopelessly from the clutter as if to beg for forgiveness and asking for me to relive her of her excess indulgence.
I delighted in making her toys and brought others home for her. She never tired of feathers and little mice filled with catnip, although wicker balls were her favorite. As the days passed we grew to know each others idiosyncrasies and became very fond of each other.
I thought I had learnt all I could about her and that there would be no more big surprises where her behavior was concerned, I could not have been more wrong. It happened one night when I was drawing a bath, and I had forgotten to close the door. Miss Bess, never one for privacy, nosed her way past the door and into the bathroom. Upon seeing me in the tub she jumped on the toilet and then onto the counter to have a better view of what I was doing. I like to have bubbles in most of my baths and these she found most intriguing. Jumping from the counter to the toilet again, and then to the floor she bounded up again onto the baths low wall.
From here she peered into the small spheres bringing her nose close to sniff their scent. I had to laugh when her nose hit some of the bubbles and they exploded. She looked so surprised by the tickles I am sure she should have felt. This of course set the water to motion and she stared at the ripples as they floated on top of the water. She pawed one and then two of them only to be amazed at the ripples her paws made. She slapped the water a third and then a fourth time following the rings until they bounced off of me or the boundary of the tub. Only when they quieted did she regard her paw and the moisture there, licking until the water was all but gone. She began to pace the wall of the tub then, with the grace all cats possess. Meowing her questions about this silly ritual I was engaging in, I am sure. I watched her become more agitated and could not think of why she was getting upset.
And then it happened. Suddenly she jumped from the tub wall into the bath, her whole body launched through the air and with a tremendous splash she was with me in the tub. It was as though I watched all of this in slow motion. One moment she was dry, the next she was a drenched little waif. Luckily for me she had landed near the faucet end of the bath or I would have had deep red gashes for sure.
If I was not so concerned about her I would have been in fits of giggles as Miss Bess is a cat who can display so many emotions in her eyes and about her face. What I saw now was a mixture of complete and utter shock and sheer joy. She swam about her part of the tub droplets of water hung daintily about her whiskers, and looked as though she was having the time of her life. I was perplexed to say the least. I had never known nor heard of a feline who liked water. I had thought all of them hated it, so much for that stereotype. Miss Bess always was one to bend the rules. So we stayed like that, and I let her enjoy the water for another 30 minutes.
I got out of the tub as the water had long ago started to get cold and my hands full of wrinkles. I dried myself off, dressed and ran a comb though my hair. I thought at some point throughout all of these tasks she would have gotten out on her own but to my amazement she just puttered about the tub, basking in her new found toy. Finally I had finished and I had to get her out of the tub. I pulled the drain thinking the sound of the water escaping would truly draw her out but alas this was not so. I went to pull her out of the tub and she would have nothing of it. She skittered to one end of the tub or the other and then when I did manage to get a hold of her she clawed her way back even though there was no more then an inch of water left in the tub.
I grabbed a towel and waited for all of the water to drain before trying again. She reluctantly agreed to the rubbing of her fur to get most of the water out. Though she was clearly perturbed to be separated from her new found love so soon, I tried to coax her with promises of other baths to come but she was apparently not listening. I kissed the top of her head and let her go on her way, she was not dry by any means but I knew she would soon lick her fur into a better condition then the towel was doing. I cleaned up the water that had come out of the bath when she had made her cat-dive and put the towel in the laundry.
I found her in my bedroom moments later lying upon my pillow. A huge wet ring had produced itself underneath her. Clearly I was not getting to sleep anytime soon, Miss Bess would not sleep anywhere else but above my head at night, this I had found out early. I thought about what else I could use to dry her off faster. Then I fished out my own hair dryer, hoping that the sound would not scare her off. I started with a low setting at first to test the waters so to speak, but it turned out I did not need to worry. Miss Bess loved the warm air and the brushing I gave her and soon she was dry, and we were both to sleep.
It was later the same month that I found out that not only did Miss Bess like baths but she adored the shower as well, which I thought more puzzling then the baths. I thought she would get soap in her eyes and the droplets would annoy her but it was not so. She just closed her eyes to slits, drew in her whiskers and let the warm water rush over her. I am sure she would stay there all day if I was to let her. But when the water shut off and it was time to get out, I would be greeted by her scowl. Teasing her with treats afterwards usually got her into a better mood again though.
I have often wondered why Miss Bess, with her love of water, did not once tackle the toilet. I was very glad she didn’t though; I disliked the thought of toilet water being dripped and tracked about the house.
When guests come to visit us for any length of time I must always explain about Miss Bess and her eccentric ways, lest they come into a bit of a shock. I tell them that the best way to make sure it doesn’t happen is to check the bathroom first and close the door tight second, as she has been known to hide in the wastebasket. Of course this will not protect them from her loud wailing outside the door when she hears the sounds of the shower or bath and finds out their betrayal. She can send up such a racket when she wants too, and she will ignore whoever has shut her out of the bathroom for the rest of the day or night whichever it might be. Literally she will show her back to them and stare off into the distance, letting everyone know precisely how she feels.
Like I mentioned before I don’t know who picked who or what to believe, but I do know I would not be the same had Miss Bess not come into my life and for that I am grateful.
© 2009 Tigra