Kitty Baths

With a quick turn of a knob, water gushes from the faucet and a streak of orange emerges from the other side of the house. At first, the orange tabby peers inside - two paws kept firmly on dry ground. His head darts from side to side, watching the tub fill with warm water and white fluffs of bubbles. It takes awhile, but eventually he realizes exactly what is happening, and revels in the curiosity he has with this weekly ritual.

Jito (pronounced heat-o) is somewhat of an anomaly of a cat. His best friend is a Chesapeake Bay Retriever who shares her dog food dish with the entitled feline. He goes crazy trying to get the cranberry muffins I eat, but leaves the steak defrosting on the counter. He knows where I hide his treats, but lacks the hunting skills to find them after they’re tossed underneath his nose. And then there is this ritual that he is always too excited to take part in: bath time.

It began when he was only a month or two old, sometime the summer before last. Although I prefer faster showers in the summer, after a stressful day at work, I decided to relax with a bath. At his young age, Jito was still following me around from the time I got home from work to the time I left the next morning. And so it happened that I had a small orange shadow as I collected my book, towel and robe and headed to the bathroom. He followed me in, and I decided to accept this crazy concept without shooing him to the other side of the door.

Trying to defend my cat’s quirky sense of adventure, I googled “cats AND water.” At first, I discovered several reasons for keeping your cat well hydrated (renal failure, urinary tract infections, etc.). After getting past the advertisements for kitty water fountains (which is now on my list for the next trip to the pet store), I realized that there is a silent web-based movement stirring. To those dog owners out there - and anybody else who fails to idolize the feline fur-balls - you probably care more not to know. For those of us with nothing better to do than discuss, debate and educate ourselves on our stubborn, arrogant and exceptional clean friends, this is amazing. Apparently, cats hating water is a myth!

The aversion is easily explained with their origin. Evidence of domesticating the creatures we know now as housecats goes back as early as 9,500 years ago. The ancestors of the smaller Felis catus domesticus existed in a desert world, where there was little to no water. They were able to stay hydrated with the liquid they found in their prey. Eventually, ancient farmers realized their value as predators to the vermin in their grain bins, and the small felines became domesticated. With their genetic disposition to life in the desert, the domestic cat was not attracted to water in ways that other domesticated animals (such as dogs) were, and are. This lack of attraction, combined with their ability to groom themselves with their saliva rather than water has created an image in our minds of a species that not only does not care for water, but hates it. Their wild cousins, however, are not only known to be avid swimmers, but keen fishers too. Genetic disposition, therefore, is not justification for their hatred of the wetter life.

During the first bath, Jito was overly curious. He peered into the tub, watching the bubbles form and the water rise. Trying to get a better look, he jumped onto the edge of the ceramic tub and sniffed the water cautiously. He treaded softly along the edge, inspecting the new terrain as he paced. I extended a handful of bubbles towards him; he sniffed. One bubble went inside his nostril and he sneezed, losing his balance. His front left foot slipped down the slanted inner edge of the tub and was suddenly in the water. In an instant, Jito became the Roadrunner, his feet circling in a frenzy, trying to get away from this newest sensation: wet!

One of the bloggers I came across chastises those who use spray bottles for discipline. These people, in the website’s slant, further the myth of cats hating water. “Why do cats hate water?” asks The Why? Files. “Because we teach them to,” is the first and only response to the question. It makes a good point. Spraying a cat with water is a good form of deterring him or her from performing bad deeds, such as jumping on the counter, or climbing the Christmas tree. The latter was the only behaviour I tried to deter Jito from with the use of a water bottle. That was five months after the first bath. So why did he run terrified, away from the new sensation?

After several more baths with the proud orange tabby, I’ve decided that he is not too keen on the water aspect of my bath. The first bath was, to be expected, a new and unusual experience for the young kitten. He had had no need for water other than the water dish before. So I understand why he was more confused than anything else over my need to soak in this large watering dish. A few months later - after stumbling over the tap on his way to inspect the other edge of the tub - he was even more perplexed.

“Why don’t you,” his glares at me said, “like myself, use this substance for hydration and your saliva to clean the hair only found on top of your large head?”

Of course, there are always the minutes of fun to be had with the pink little fish, found beneath the water’s surface at the opposite end of the tub from my face; but he quickly tires of trying to catch them. Then he will jump from his ledge and find a warm spot on the bath mat, only two feet away. There he will curl into a large ball - slightly sprawled out, in case I care to drag a wet hand across his back - simply enjoying our time together. It may only last thirty minutes, but for him that’s quality bonding time. Uninterrupted, we relax together: me with my book, him with his human. Who would dare to call that strange?