Every morning, without fail, my cat follows me into the bathroom like a shadow with whiskers. The moment the water turns on, he leaps gracefully onto the highest shelf—his personal throne. From there, he sits tall and unblinking, tail curled neatly around his paws, watching me as though I am his loyal servant performing some sacred ritual. 👑✨

Sometimes, he tilts his head curiously at the sound of the water, ears twitching, eyes gleaming like tiny lanterns in the steam. Other times, he lets out a low, dramatic sigh, as if to say, “Human, must you really make such a spectacle every single morning?”

And yet, when I slide open the door and step out, he is right there—purring, brushing against my legs, claiming me once more as his. I swear one day he’ll try to join me, and when that day comes, I’ll be ready with a miniature towel and a tiny bottle of cat shampoo.

Because in this house, I’m not the ruler of the shower. He is. 💦🐾👑