The old bathtub sits alone at the back of the room. Its four clawed feet sag wearily beneath its weight. Once painted a bright white, the enamel has now faded into a dingy shade of alabaster. The smooth surface is now chipped and peeling. It once stood proud, but the years have taken a toll.
Around the drain, there appears to be a ring of mildew, but upon closer inspection it is only the black of the cast iron peeking through. The old pipes gurgle and spit as they drain the lukewarm, used bath water.
Many years ago the children spent hours splashing in the bubbles, their laughter echoing through the house. Boats and sharks would float, sink, and squirt water until Mother arrived with clean pajamas and a bedtime story. She’d dry them off and then mop up the puddles with every bath towel she could find.
These days, the gray cat with the green eyes plays hide and seek in the tub. He crouches low, ears angled like wings on a plane ready for takeoff. Slowly, he raises his head until only his eyes peek above the rim. Spotting movement, he ducks with lightning speed. Then his back end wiggles before he pounces out of the tub after his playmate.
Sometimes the small window above the tub is left open, letting in a soft breeze that fills the room with fresh air. Sunlight filters through, casting golden beams that dance across the surface. Outside, birds chatter and sing their daily songs.
In those quiet moments, the tub dreams it has wings. Soaring through the bright blue sky, it gazes down at the little white house it has always called home. The dark roof shelters it from rain and snow. Beside the house, a small meadow blooms with flowers, and a creek winds its way toward town.
A sudden noise jolts the tub from its daydream. It is once again just an old bathtub, resting quietly at the back of the room, as it has for many years.