So there I was in the shower in search of cleanliness and serenity.
I was a little preoccupied. I was thinking, ‘will it ever be possible to walk again‘ and ‘if zombies were to take over Brentwood, how would I destroy our staircase?’ and ‘how could I outrun raptors if I can’t walk?’
Scrub scrub scrub I went.
I was thinking so hard about Jurassic park survival I didn’t realise how long I had been in the shower, or how steamed the room had become. I had the door closed in order to trap in that sweet sweet steam, so you can imagine my surprise when stepping out out of the shower I was greeted by the green eyes of the cat staring murderously at me.
I was so startled I may have screamed.
He sat there staring as I slowly reached for my towel.
So mental this cat is, he takes real offence to inanimate objects. The doorstop for example, is a fat penguin. He hates the penguin. As he sleeps downstairs, I can only image we’re living with an Indian in the Cupboard situation and the penguin comes alive at night to torment him or something. That, or the cat is slightly retarded, who knows.
Anyway, as I reached for the towel, he attacked. Not me. Just the towel. Claws out ready to kill, he latched onto my towel, dragged it to the ground, paused for a second and pelted off full speed.
I was standing in the bath, dripping wet, cold, and naked, with the towel halfway down the stairs.
He just really hates things that don’t move.