We stayed in a hotel where you were not allowed to swim in the pool after 5 p.m., but I wanted to. My husband advised against it, but I was stubborn. The sign said “Pool Closes at 5,” yet the water glowed turquoise under the dusk, whispering rebellion. I slipped in at 5:01, grinning like a teenager.
I come back happy, dripping chlorine and triumph. He looks at me wide-eyed. Then he laughs: “Here’s your punishment!” He shows a video on his phone: I’m swimming, gliding through the cool embrace, when a sleek hotel cat saunters to the edge. It squats, tail high, and with perfect timing, deposits a tiny, steaming gift right where my next stroke would take me.
I shrieked mid-lap, flailing backward as the cat trotted off, unbothered. My husband, hidden behind a palm, had captured every second. For the rest of the vacation, he replayed it at dinner, in the elevator, even during sunset cocktails. “Instant karma,” he’d crow, wiping tears of laughter.
I believed him. From then on, I obeyed every rule, especially the ones with feline enforcers. Some rebellions aren’t worth the splash, especially when nature’s got a litter box and perfect aim.
