I went rigid again. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now he was coming closer.
In a brief blur, he fell below the lip of the tub, nearing the base where I could no longer see him.
Not good.
I moved to the center of the tub, just in case he popped out behind me. Not knowing where he was? I sat as still as humanly possible, trying not to disturb the water’s calm.
He popped up.
The whole tub jostled when I jumped, splashing back and contemplating my next move. I reached for a shampoo bottle, brandishing it like a weapon—just in case.
His front paws were resting on the edge, and that’s when I saw he was holding something in his mouth.
“Larry…” I warned. My eyes strained to make sense of the lump between his teeth, the dim light offering little clue.
He dropped it.
With a plunk and a splash, my eyes went wide. Whatever it was thrashed for dear life once it hit the water. It was alive. Kicking and scrambling backward, I fought for purchase so I could get the hell out of the bath.
The thing squealed in a high-pitched,“I’m going to die!” way, paddling in my direction with beady little eyes peeking out from wet, gray fur and paws slapping the water for dear life.
Finding a foothold, I leapt up and immediately tumbled out of the tub. My ass smacked against the freezing concrete with a wet slap, and I felt like a newborn baby rocketing out of a, well... you get the idea.
I clawed at the cement, scrambling back up with surprising speed. My knees scraped on the grit, leaving scratches, but the feeling of pain was an afterthought. Glancing behind me at the water, I let out another guttural scream when I made sense of what the creature was. It was a rat, lapping the pool like Michael Phelps and gulping air like an Olympic sport.
Perched half up the side of the tub, Larry watched with amusement as the rat cut through the bubbles. He reached out periodically, thwacking at the rat’s tail and sending it bobbing under the water. Every time the rat surfaced, Larry punched it back down like a game of whack-a-mole.
The shed door burst open, and outdoor light poured in, silhouetting Gray in the doorway.
My screams hit a crescendo, and I lunged for the towel atop the wooden bench, my bare feet slapping the cold, wet cement. I snatched up the thick towel, fumbling to unfold it so I could cover myself. My wet skin and taught nipples fought the fabric once the towel was open, but eventually I covered myself enough that I could reach for the robe and repeat the entire godforsaken process.
Finally, I got my body covered.
Turning back to the scene, Gray was at the tub, pointedly averting his gaze from my direction—which was appreciated. He had a shovel in hand, looking prepared to scoop the rat out of the water. Before Gray could reach for the rat, however, Larry grabbed it by the tail and took off out the open shed door.
“Fuck!” Gray swore before going after them, shovel raised.
“Leave Larry alone!” I yelled, swallowing down air to catch my breath, water dripping from my hair and nose.
I jammed my feet into shoes, and the rough grit stuck to them, making my boots feel like they were lined with sandpaper. Ignoring the further discomfort, I clutched my robe close and sprinted after them. I burst outside just as Gray swung the shovel down at the dirt like an axe.
“Stop!” I yelled, skidding in the mud, nearly falling on my ass again. I fumbled for the robe’s ties, having barely avoided a nip slip, and secured them in a knot this time.
Larry escaped Gray, leaping across the big rocks in the river with surprising grace. He halted on a boulder in the middle of the rapids, too far for Gray to reach.
I hobbled over to stand beside Gray, getting there just in time to witness Larry biting the tail off the now lifeless rat. He sucked it up like a noodle and chewed, mouth open. It looked crunchy, and I fought back a gag.
Gray was panting hard, hands on his knees. Between his breaths and my dry heaves, we clouded the air with steam. A long while of recovery passed before he glanced at me, taking in my fluffy, oversized gray robe and hiking boots, the laces dragging through the ice and mud. Without a word, he reached out and wiped something off my cheek.
“Hey!” I snapped, batting his hand away.
He started laughing, flicking mud off his fingers.
As hard as I tried to maintain my anger, I couldn’t keep myself from devolving into laughter alongside him as I wiped my face again, finding more mud.
Finally, when the laughter died, he asked,“Are you okay?” He stood and grasped my shoulders gently, assessing me from head to toe.“You might need another bath,” he stated, as if I didn’t already know that.
I wiped joyful tears from my face. I forgot to be angry for a moment and schooled my features.
