"Just a second, Emma," I say.
I walk over to the shower, open the door, and turn it on. The black and white bear of a cat that formerly belonged to my mother, pushes past me and gets in. There she sits, lapping up water from the bottom of the shower or licking it off her paws. Then, she turns her face up and drinks in the drops as they cascade down on top of her.
"Okay, Emma. My turn," I say after a few minutes. Usually she dutifully lumbers out on cue. Sometimes she needs to be coaxed. Her head glistens with the tiny drops of water that cling to her fur and whiskers. As I walk past her, she gives her head a shake, sending those drops of water, now cold, directly in my path where they land on my legs. A shower before my shower.
"Crazy cat," I mutter as I take my place in the shower.
She walks away to settle down somewhere to lick the remaining drops from her fur. But when it's time for the next shower, she'll be back.