Bathroom Behavior
October 1, 2002

Cats and bathrooms. Someone please explain the connection to me. And use scientific terms, because that's the only way I'll believe there is a valid explanation other than the fact that one of my cats needs serious counseling.

It never fails -- every time I go into the bathroom, there's an unspoken ritual to be followed. A few minutes after I'm there, Poppadum comes trotting in. She weaves her tubby orange body around my ankles a few times before collapsing on the purple flower bathmat. She then commences to squirm all around on her back and act very coy.

Another interesting facet of Poppadum's bathroom behavior that's come to light more recently has less to do with who is on the toilet and more to do with what's in the toilet. No, not like that. Ew.

I'd just finished cleaning the toilet -- using one of those bottles with the conveniently twisted neck -- and was putting everything away when I heard a seductive, "Mrrrowrr." It was coming from the bathroom. Poppadum was white-tufted belly-up on the lid of the toilet, and she was trying to convince me that, although she had been spayed some four years ago, she had found love.

She rubbed her face all over the recently cleaned commode and rolled repeatedly over the lid, nearly falling off. "You're high, aren't you?" I demanded of her grinning face. Since she has now exhibited this same behavior each time I clean the bathroom -- even running in when she hears me rattle the bucket of cleaning products in order to get her fix -- I think a drug habit can be the only explanation.

Strangely enough, her little brother doesn't seem to share either of her fascinations with the bathroom. "That's because his brain is too small," Mathra would tell you. Yes, because getting high on Mr. Clean and having some sketchy attraction to What Humans Do In There takes a large brain.

But that's Mathra all over. Even though Hunca Munca's head is a full five square inches bigger than Poppadum's, Mathra's convinced that Poppadum is MENSA material, while Hunca is bucking for the short bus special.

Mathra is Poppadum's eternal champion. He's so used to Hunca Munca getting into trouble that when it's his golden girl who's in the wrong, he already has, "HUNca MUNca, stop!" on his tongue. Whereas I, the impartial mother, know that there was a time when Poppadum drove Mathra foamy-mouthed with her kittenish antics and our late, beloved Mica was the one who could do no wrong.

Mathra believes that Poppadum with her ear mites, URI, pink eye, fleas, ring worm -- which required a special bath in special shampoo giving us special scars three days a week -- and spattering diarrhea from an intestinal worm was less trouble than Hunca Munca and his paper stalking habit.

I think it's a father-daughter thing.

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  Copyright © 2002-2008 Stephanie Vander Weide