The Cats

I don't know if you're aware of this, but your bathroom is a very dangerous place. It's fraught with hidden dangers and your very life is threatened as soon as you cross the threshold. You'll be relieved to know, though, that the hazards are limited to use of the toilet or the bath tub and shower, and don't seem to affect the sink. I consider myself very lucky to be alive because, for most of my life, I recklessly stepped through the doors of countless bathrooms, oblivious to the perils awaiting me.

Now that I have cats and don't need the privacy of a closed door, I've learned that the bathroom is dangerous. I don't know exactly what the dangers are because the cats haven't learned to talk yet, but I know that going into the bathroom is a huge risk because of their reaction. If you want to live out your days without bathroom incident, then I suggest you acquire a cat or two to ensure your bathroom use is always properly supervised. I had no idea how much supervision I needed. It's just as well they moved to Edinburgh with me.

At the sound of the toilet lid going up, they gallop into the bathroom, eyes wide and pupils dilated. Panic stricken. Omigod - she's in the bathroom; HURRY! They'll awaken out of a deep and snoring cat sleep to do this. Once they've established that my bum's not wedged inside the bowl and that I'm not en route to the sewers, the pupils dilate, the eyelids relax and they start purring and rubbing against my legs. Ricky is sometimes compelled to jump onto the top of the tank to get a better vantage point for rescue purposes. He can never quite accept that I'm safe until I'm actually off the seat and the lid is once again closed, thereby protecting me from Death by Flushing.

Using the sink is a different matter. There's apparently no need to interrupt a nap to save me from the sink. Presumably, they've done a risk assessment, little pens poised over clipboards to record possible sink perils, and decided there were none. I can safely wash my face and hands and indulge in extensive dental habits without incident.

Turning on the bath taps requires a brief reconnaissance mission to scope out the enemy and establish positions. There is great alarm once I'm installed in a tub full of soapy bubbles, although the act of lowering myself into it seems to be of no consequence. While I'm lying in the water, there is much consternation and pacing back and forth, standing on hind legs with paws on the edge and looks of indignation directed at me. Sometimes there's even a plaintive meow. This, from cats who rarely speak. A guard is often posted to the window sill, to supervise any movement in the water, ready to sound the alarm. Occasionally, if I allow the surface of the water to become still, a paw will stretch out to touch the surface. Of course, it's quickly withdrawn when the horrible reality of a wet paw is realized and the victim has to rush off to lick it dry. As soon as I'm out of the water, their job is done and they return to the warm spot beside the radiator in the living room to catch up on their sleep.

A shower, which also involves the bathtub, isn't much of a concern in the beginning and I'm usually allowed to enter unsupervised. After the water's turned off and I draw back the shower curtain, Charlie's sitting on the edge of the tub, alert to the possibility that I'll be sucked down the plug hole as the water drains out. Once I'm safely standing on the bathmat, Charlie's relieved of his duties as, at this point, Ricky trots in to take over. It seems that, while supervision of toilet use and bathing requires two cats, one cat is sufficient for the shower. Showers are evidently low-risk. Seeing that I've survived my ablutions, Ricky hops into the tub and starts the long job of licking it dry. He does this single-tonguedly because Charlie doesn't like to get his paws wet. Sometimes he'll leave the bathtub to lick my legs dry too, but he always goes back in to finish the job.

I'm so grateful to my cats for protecting me from all the water and porcelain. It's a lot of work for them because they're almost always awakened from a deep nap to run to my aid and then the work of cleaning themselves after it's all over can be a lengthy process. They have very busy lives too. There are windowsills crying out to be sat on, duvets to be tunnelled under, plants to eat, a scratching post to attack.

They deserve little medals to pin to their chests for their bravery.