by Matthew Sanborn Smith
My husband, George, had just gone to bed and the little grey kitten rubbed against my foot.
"You’re right," I said, "Even though you don’t know it. I should shower first." I picked up the kitten and unfolded her into a grey washcloth before she knew what was happening. After my shower, I let the washcloth fall to the floor and it collapsed back into the kitten. She was pissed. Soaking wet and having just had intimate knowledge of my every bit and piece, she bolted off to hide from her evil human mistress. Dogs don’t mind nearly as much as cats, but I’d never use Ruby as a washcloth. I needed her to dry off.
"C’mere, Ruby," I called. Ruby came, because she’s a dog. A beautiful golden retriever. "That’s a good girl, Ruby. I gave her a good head scratching before grabbing her front paws and stretching her out into a luxurious bath towel. I love it when the towel just comes from the dog. It’s so warm. I wrapped myself in the towel and found George still up, stark naked on the bed.
"Hows about a little lovin’ baby?" he said. I laughed.
"You must have read my mind," I said. I stood next to him and let my towel drop to the floor. Ruby shook herself off and walked circles at the foot of the bed. George wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me down on top of him.
"Gimmie some sugar," he said. I kissed him hard on the lips and grabbed his thingie. "Mmmmm," he said. My hand squirmed beneath his armpit and I snapped him firmly into a king-sized mattress pad.
I put on my pajamas and got a decent night’s sleep.