This is a beautiful example of Citrine, a marvellous crystal that NEVER needs cleansing…
I hate my bathroom. It doesn’t do anything particularly to merit my hatred, it just…is. It is, as tradition says, the smallest room in the house, so as logic dictates, it is painted white to give the illusion of size, space and light. Big mistake.
White happens to be one of my favourite colours, precisely because I love the illusion of size, space and light. However, add four cats to the mix and life becomes more… interesting. My cats have a weird fascination with the bathroom. I have no idea why. Considering the actions that take place in the bathroom, I like to keep it spotlessly clean. I use pet-friendly wipes to clean the floor, I use eco-friendly washing up liquid to scrub the bath and the sink and sheer elbow grease to polish the stainless steel fittings. Lemon juice is a big help and it also smells nice.
Yet despite my best efforts, circumstances, cats, children and partner all combine in one vast conspiracy to ruin my pristine, sparkling bathroom into a mud pit hair fest.
Charlie as a kitten… caught in the act!
From an early age, my princess Charlie expressed an interest in running water. My cats actually have a filtered water drinking fountain, but nothing seems to beat the taste of plain old tap water. It’s better still if you’ve already been outside, perhaps for a spot of light digging, so the fur between your toes still has granules of earth clinging to it, that you can mix with water residue in the sink or bath to produce a red medium through which you can express the finer aspects of your feline nature through the action of applying said medium to the wonderful white canvas that has thoughtfully been supplied for you on every surface in your room of self-expression. Yep. Muddy pawprints everywhere.
Our bedroom is just to the right of the bathroom door, and one day, as I was polishing the mirror, I happened to see Charlie in the reflection. She was looking particularly furtive and… yes, downright sneaky. She nudged the bathroom door open – I had been intending to do a quick clean in there as well – and disappeared inside. I had to see what my cat was doing.
I crept stealthily across the room and stuck my head around the door and – I’ve never seen anything like it. My little cat was standing on the edge of the bath, on her back legs, stretched up as high as she could reach. She was WIPING her front paws across the tiles and then examining the underneath with interest, as if to say:
“Well, today I have managed to mix the finest shade of vermilion… notice how I use different pressures of my paws to achieve the desired textured effect…”
The look on her face was a charming picture of interest and excitement, but I couldn’t help the anguished shriek as I saw how she managed to express herself already across my previously gleaming bath. Charlie looked at me, shock in her eyes at this rude interruption, ‘Brrp’-ed loudly and ran away.
“Somebody – open the lid!”
The other cats just sit. They sit in the sink. Or the bath. They like to watch while you clean your teeth, although I have mixed feelings about being observed while I am in the shower. Charlie, however, is a very different sort of cat. I am prepared to overlook her artistic endeavours in my bathroom because she’s my cat and I love her. I really hope my partner sees things the same way when he notices that the back of his favourite chair has been shredded. Art can take many forms…
“Can I help?”