Boogie And The Cat

There are very few sanctuaries anymore. The civilized world is buying up more and more of the real estate. The quiet corners of the world are slowly being paved away to make room for over sized gyms and coffee huts. And the poor souls of the world have fewer and fewer places to collect their thoughts.

Thankfully one bastion of peace remains, one that I'm sure most of my loyal readers can identify with: The bathroom.

Yes sir, four walls brought forth by our inherent need for porcelain and the private calm it can bring. A holy place of peace, meditation, and hygiene. Oftentimes modern man and woman rush home to barricade themselves in their bathrooms for a few minutes. There they pause and reflect on the inherent mental and physical relief that comes from those well worn walls. Some use the time to catch up on their reading, but most simply sigh and use their well-deserved time to ease the mind and reflect on the times ahead.

I am no stranger to this ritual. My restroom serves as an oasis when the mind goes numb. My deep breath in chaotic times. I cherish these quiet moments, for the absolute isolation of the restroom is without equal.

Naturally, I tend to get a mite ornery when these meditations are interrupted. Knocks on the doors, demands to get out, loud televisions, and children crying. All a threat against this finely barricaded fortress you've made for yourself. It puts great strain on a weary mind, the equivalent of being plucked from Heaven and dropped into a hangover. Hostilities flare up and suddenly the world is your enemy. You find yourself lashing out at these people, striking at them with harsh words and fierce tone. Most likely they're just craving some of the peace you have, but it matters not, this is your realm. You were here first.

These are not simple matters blown out of proportion. I would dare say that many a questionable marriage was destroyed because of these sanctified disturbances. Emerging couples have a hard time adjusting to each other, and the rules of the bathroom are not yet known. Divorce papers have been signed on the basis that one's spouse kept coming in at inopportune times to get her toothbrush. I'm sure a few friendships have been lost in the war too, probably a few family ties are a little more strained. The power of the bathroom is great, something that must be respected.

Lately, my bathroom time has been interrupted more than it should be. It has happened so much, that I've actually started getting nervous on my walk towards my porcelain kingdom. What's worse is that these interruptions are not caused by man, but by beast.

Yep, The Cat has taken to coming into the john with me.

There are two cats in this house. There is My Cat, and then there is The Cat. The distinction is simple: I own My cat. I pay to keep her fed and vaccinated and have trained her personally. My Cat knows the rules.

The Cat belongs to nobody. A derelict stray that is attached to all but has loyalties to none. The Cat has no regard for the rules. She is an outlaw in this house, a vagabond feeding upon the kindness and impartiality of those around her. And it is The Cat that likes to ruin my times of peace.

The scenario usually plays out like this: I walk to the bathroom in the same way many of you do. Slow and steady, very composed. A sense of anxiousness for the relief and quiet seperation, along with one part nervousness. You know, on the off chance you don't make it. As I open my bathroom door, I feel a furry sensation streak past my leg. As the lights come on, I see a cat, standing in the center of the floor, staring at me. It's too late to do anything now, I'm here for a reason after all. So I close the door, drop trou, and get to the matters at hand. Here's where things get weird. The cat then takes to rubbing the length of her body against my legs. Over and over again in some weird unsettling ritual. And if that wasn't strange enough, she will then sit upon the wad that is my pants and unmentionables, bathe herself, and occasionally reach her neck towards my hands in an effort to get some undeserved head-scratching. Upon completion of my duties and a good wash of the hands, she'll walk out the door with me. We'll head our separate ways, with her only pausing momentarily to look back at me, almost as if to say, "I enjoyed this quality time with you," before heading out to her normal pursuits.


Many might call it cute, and coo audibly with "Awww's." If this is you, then you are a fool. There is no comfort that can come from this arrangement. This is where the word "disturbed" finds its meaning. Remember good people, this is my quiet time, my Tibet. I am here to relax. And relaxation is hard to find when the meowing, shedding vermin is underfoot.

Also consider the physiology of the situation. In the bathroom, you will always find yourself in a contorted, postulated position staring at your ankles. It's a position that would make most observers nervous, but not you. You've seen this sort of thing before. You've had time to become quite comfortable with the shape of your leg or any hair that might befall them. It's part of your native lands and you accept it without question.

But, when you've got an animal standing on your underwear and rubbing themselves against the leg you've come to know, it makes things a bit more awkward. Now you're self conscious about yourself. Why is this animal touching you there? What does it all mean? Is it affection, loneliness, a sexual act? Dear god, please don't let it be sexual. You're petrified now, too uncomfortable to let her continue, but too afraid to make her stop. Odds are this cat won't sporadically leap in the air and start attacking your most precious of assets, but why play with the odds? No, just let her finish. Stare at the wall blankly, reach for the roll, and walk away without looking back. Nothing happened here, nothing at all.

This has occurred on enough of a regular basis to make me very unhinged. Usually, I love animals. I adore my dogs, and have a comfortable working relationship with My Cat. But, this distraction to my state of mind is too much. I'm starting to ponder things. Some very bad, very dark things. The other day, I actually caught myself staring at this cat and saying out loud, "If only I had a blender." There is no good ending to a sentence like that.

So, obviously I can't kill the critter as that would be cruel. But I can't have this precious time constantly intruded on either. I am left with one recourse when tinkle time comes a'calling: I must try to outrun the cat.

When approaching the bathroom, As soon as I hear the little tinkle bell on that maniacal beast's collar, I burst off like a madman. Full sprint, eyes on the prize, no time to look back. I can hear that damned bell catching up with me. One of the advantages of being a quadruped. She's gaining on me, the terror overwhelming. With a final burst of energy, and I get through the door. Now to spin around and close it quick. All it takes is the door being open a few inches for her to get though. I must move fast. Momentum is not my friend here.

Through some miracle, I get that door closed. The bell stops on the other side. Her prey has evaded her, now she must find someone else to victimize with her affections. Breathing heavy I stand there, hard pressed against the door. A stronger sense of victory I have never felt. I have won this match, the sanctuary is mine alone to cherish. With proud heart and belt unbuckled, I venture forth to claim my spoils.

The things one must do for sanity.