We have a fish pond, and a stream at the bottom of the garden. It is thus somewhat of a rite of passage for cats in this household that they at some point come home very wet indeed. With Bada, we had to hose her down with jugfuls of warm water at 1 a.m. Iggy and Mustrum have often come in very moist, where clearly one of their full and frank exchanges of views has taken them into the stream. Here’s Drumknott in a fairly soggy state.
Henry is very interested in the fish in the pond, but he is also obsessed with chasing insects, and dances across the garden in pursuit; I said to Pete the other day that he would probably end up in the pond. And so it was this morning.
He didn’t seem remotely bothered, and Ron helped him clean up. The fish, however, were huddled at the bottom of their pond, and seemed unimpressed.
|Originally published at the Tribe.|