As I sat back on my folded hind legs and thought and thought, something came to mind. The master occasionally saunters off to somewhere with towel and soap in hand. Thirty or forty minutes later he returns, and his anemic complexion has brightened a bit. It's tinged, I would even say, with a touch of vivacity. If such effect can be worked on a shabby-looking fellow like the master, then imagine the outcome with me. I'm handsome enough as it is and see no need to be made more dashing, but at the same time, I do have to think of my health. Were I to fall ill and part this life prematurely, at the tender age of one year and some months, the world would mourn its loss. From what I've been told, it's public baths that the master frequents, a human contrivance for the whiling away of time. If humans conceived and built it, it's no doubt second rate, but in times like this I wouldn't mind trying a soak. Even if it does nothing, I'll be none the worse and wiser. The question is whether humans, having constructed these baths for their own use, are large enough of heart to allow another species, a cat say, to join and soak in their midst. If they let in a man like the master, there's no reason they shouldn't welcome me. However, one can't be too cautious. Should I meet with rejection, I'd never live it down. The best course of action is to scope things out in advance. If all looks good, I can always come back, a washcloth between my teeth, and plunge in. Thus resolved, I wandered off for the baths.