Why we can’t have nice things

The body wash had bubbled up and was tickling my naked arms, floating on top of the steaming bathwater.

A meditation track was playing in the background, the binaural beat lulling me into its calm embrace, readying my mind and my body for complete and very necessary relaxation.

“by now, your body should be in a calm state”, the voice droned. My subconscious agreed, and I felt my bones turn to liquidy warmth beneath my skin.

I exhaled to the count of five, as directed, but before I could take my next breath, girlcat launched onto the edge of the bathtub, caught in the shower curtain and unleashing a terrified cat scream.

Within seconds she had extracted herself from her curtain prison, and commenced her slow, explorative strut along the length of the bathtub, stepping on my phone – the source of my guided meditation – in the process.

In rescuing my phone from the bathtub, I took my attention from her and her back paws began to slip on the enamel. In slow motion, I pictured her falling into the water, her claws tearing my flesh as she scrabbled to escape.

Thankfully, she’s a cat with far better balance than I give her credit for.

She launched from the edge of the bath onto the cabinet beneath the windowsill, displacing deodorant cans and that heartbeat I should have just felt.

Me? I pulled the plug from the bath and decided that medication is much fucking easier than trying to relax when you have cats.


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