Bath Day

Every Saturday my Daddy gives me a bath. He says it's so we can live together, he says he is allergic to me. To ME! I know it's coming when he starts the bath running (he never takes a bath in the morning himself), then puts three towels in the clothes dryer. That's when I go hide. For some reason, he always seems to find me though. Today he found me hiding under the couch, next to the stereo subwoofer. I don't put up much of a fight when he catches me, because I know he means well: He puts me in the bathroom sink filled with warm water then scrubs me with a hypoallergenic soap called Purpose. Then it's into the bathtub for the rinse cycle. It's filled right up to my chin, but my head never gets wet. Sometimes I even like the bathtub part because it's really warm. But I like the hot towel rub-down is even better. Afterwards, I go off and lick myself dry. After a little me time, I'm myself again. Here I am drying myself, July last year.

But after I dried off today in the warm apartment we went for a drive in the car. I went to the supermarket (Treasure Island), to Walgreen's, to Jewel (another supermarket where you park on the roof!), then to the dry cleaners. I love to stand on my hind feet with my front paws on the car door with the window down. I supposedly look like Rin Tin Tin, whoever that was. And when we come home, my Dad opens the car door and lets me walk all by myself to the hallway door. He says I'm a homing cat.