Bismarck's Bath

It started with a splash; or rather it ended that way. In between a bunch of stuff happened.

Unlike most cats, Bismarck never showed an aversion to water.

Germany might be on the Continent stifled and suffocated by the British Empire, but I’m not about to let that deter me, Bismarck thought, inspired by his namesake.

It’s all about achieving an appropriate balance of power, i.e. me getting whatever the hell I want.

So with a graceful pounce, Bismarck first made his way to the counter.

Let’s see what’s in these glasses. He stuck his head in and took a ginger sip of water.

Not bad, he thought, although I would prefer ginger ale.

Bismarck proceeded to do the same the next day.

The human, who as all humans do alternated between sloth and bustle, began removing the glasses, trying to train Bismarck off the practice. His attempts, though, were rather equivocal and uninspired. He would only occasionally take away the glass, other times fooling himself into thinking that he was being indulgent by leaving it.

Even a normal cat would not be dissuaded. Bismarck was no normal cat. Among a sea of seals, he was the walrus or, more appropriately, sea lion. “Bismarck” was an apt sobriquet. When it came to consolidating his Empire there was no cat feline. And so the human letting Bismarck drink out of glasses gradually became accepted practice. Then it became etiquette and eventually it became de rigueur or better Pflicht.  

The next week, Bismarck moved into the bathroom. He remarked at how the human would fill up a giant porcelain bowl and get into it. He would wait patiently and expectantly for the moment the human would finally begin drinking.

You foolish gorilla, what are you wasting my time for?

Eventually simply sitting on the mat in front of the porcelain bowl was no longer enough for Bismarck. He ventured atop the bowl’s ledge.

I think I’ll show him how it’s done.

Casually, as if it were just another day in the park (where sadly Bismarck never gets to go) Bismarck began lapping up drops from the bowl’s edge. He would look up occasionally.

You see you put your face down and your tongue out, he tried to say in a way the human could understand. It’s important to me that you don’t die of dehydration. Who else am I going to scratch on?

The human did not take the advice. He continued day by day to simply sit in the bowl, oblivious to its life-sustaining contents.

Pure lunacy, Bismarck contended. I guess I have to do everything myself.

Bismarck lowered his head down towards the water inside. The tip of his tongue pierced the water. It shot back up towards his face.

You fool, this is hot. Not only was the human not drinking the water, he was warming it to such a point that no one might. There are children in African who could use this water, Bismarck thought indignantly. Not that I, Bismarck, have any particular interest in Africa, ahem.

Bismarck teetered, then he righted himself. He decided to swat the water back to a decent temperature. He plunged a paw downwards. He repeated this process. When the water had cooled slightly, he ventured his face down again. He slipped on the side of the bowl and plunged in. The human pulled Bismarck off, offering him a towel. You absurd creature, Bismarck scoffed. I can take care of myself.

With that, Bismarck proceeded to lick his wounds, prepared to fight another day.