we went skiing yesterday!
I only learned 4 years ago, and only get to go a few times a year, so the fact that I can do it at all amazes me. If I weren't so out of shape it would be so much easier... now that I've outgrown the "bunnies" I can whiz around the blue slopes with only a modicum of nervousness.
Today, my calves are killing me.
last night I decided that a hot bath might help prevent some stiffness, so I started filling the tub when we got home.
Spike started going crazy, meowing and pacing back and forth by the tub.
now, he has shown interest in water before; he's had moments when the shower seems to fascinate him, and he's been a little weird around baths, too, but this was totally different- he was interested.

(Paula Poundstone has a great little routine about cats and water; how they stand outside her shower when she's in there, and when she emerges, they say, "Man! it was ALL OVER you, man! We tried to save you, but the doors...")

Our tub sucks. It's small; there are cumbersome, hard-to-clean glass doors instead of a curtain; and the sink is right next to it, so you can only get in on one side. Spike sat on the sink and meowed over and over, doing that cat-thing where they stretch out a paw verrr-y far, sort of testing the air and surface conditions. Because the glass door is in a little track, the edge of the tub is very impractical for delicate kitty paws. The sink end was soon abandoned.
He started poking around the other end; actually tried to perch on the corner, which resulted in his falling into the tub, which, luckily for him, only had a few inches of water in it.

At this point I started laughing hysterically. I couldn't figure out what was going on, and the sight of him standing, wide-eyed, cat-ankle deep in the bathtub, was just too much. I hauled him out of the water and he allowed me to dry off his paws, although he usually hates to be handled in such a manner; I think he was in denial about having fallen in. He still couldn't take his eyes off the tub, though...

When I put some bath stuff in the tub and climbed in, Spike was right behind me- literally, he successfully perched on the corner behind me, alternately licking my shoulder and putting his paw on it, and watching the washcloth swim around in the water. Did he think it was a fish? Was there some "my-former-life-as-a-hunter" thing going on?
His whiskers twitched. He made three separate attempts to get closer to the water. These seemed to involve a plan to actually climb down my torso; twice he gingerly put a paw just below my shoulder, both times deciding it wasn't stable enough ground. I still thought the whole thing was way too funny to chase him away. The meowing was incessant, and if ever I have really, truly thought an animal was trying to communicate something to me (besides "feed me wet food," "shiatsu now," etc.), I really believed it then.
or maybe he's getting old and crazy.