Cats don't like water.

There are times when I try to express my thoughts truthfully. Really, I try. I don't sit inside my own head and think catty little things without expressing them all the time. Really, I don't.

So when my boyfriend decided to give my cat a bath a few days ago, I started off being nice.

Boyfriend: I think Squeaky needs a bath. It's been a while.
Me: Yeah, since we found him in a parking lot and he was too young to have teeth.
B: I think he'll like it.
Me: He was so funny when he was little. He would just sit in the sink and look so sad, wouldn't he?
B: Yeah. Come on Squeaky. Let's go in the bathroom.

This is the moment where I had two choices: tell him that, no matter what their kitten experiences were, cats are inherently afraid of water. Or, let him figure it out the hard way.

I took the middle road.

Me: You know he is going to freak out, right?
B: (dismissively) Oh we'll be fine.

He brushed me off. He gave me that I-got-this look, and so I sat back and let him figure it out.

Me: Just get ready, I'm telling you.

The two of them went in the bathroom, the water turned on, and shit started to go down. I heard things falling off shelves, water splashing everywhere and the garbled cry of a human in pain.

I jumped off the bed and opened the door.

B: CLOSE THE DOOR!!!!!
Me: Are you O.K.?

His forearm was already swollen with a gash that looked like someone had hammered a nail in his skin and dragged it about 4 inches towards his wrist.

B: (sadly now) Please just close the door.

So I did, and we said nothing else about it.