Paris in the Toilet
I have pissed on my cat. There, I said it, but let me also hasten to add that it wasn’t entirely my fault.
My cat, Paris, has a problem. Or maybe it’s not a problem, per se, and it’s more of an interest. A special interest. In me. More specifically, in my bathroom activities.
Maybe this is normal cat behavior. I know that no other cat I have ever been around has exhibited it, and I want to attribute it to two unrelated things; the door to my bathroom has no latch so it will not stay closed if someone really, really wants to come in, and she’s still just a kitten, more or less, doing kitten things like exploring her boundaries and showing curiosity about every fucking thing I am doing all the time unless she is asleep, in which case she wants to be asleep on me.
I know I haven’t yet actually mentioned her behavior. That’s because it reflects on me in some ways that I’m not entirely happy with sharing, yet I think the amusement factor overshadows my own embarrassment concerning some of the things that have gone on in my bathroom between my cat and me.
If I begin to take a leisurely piss, she comes a’runnin’ because Paris likes to watch. It’s always the same. I will be standing at the toilet holding my Johnson and wondering if, this time, I can get away with taking a piss without the cat. However, almost immediately after the stream hits the water, she is there.
Sometimes, she knows where I’m headed and she’ll sit between my feet staring up at my Willy waiting for me to begin. I believe she thinks it’s like some piece of clothing I own or perhaps a dangly toy she should be able to play with (we’ll cover her crotch-lunging another time). So I get a little pee-shy and look down at her looking up at me with her innocent yellow eyes and finally begin.
This is when she hops up onto the toilet rim for a better view. So now I have a cat-sized moving target that I’m actively trying to avoid hitting. I’ll lean forward, one hand against the wall behind the toilet and the other attempting to control the targeting aspects of taking a piss.
The penis is not a well-designed tool. It does some things very well, but given a target to hit (or avoid) of anything less than three-feet in circumference, a guy’s gonna splash. And the thing’s pliable and the causeway sometimes thins out or opens up and the stream’s suddenly going on the floor or the back of the toilet, up on the seat, on your own foot, honestly there’s just no telling what’s going to happen.
So I’m pissing, trying to avoid the cat, and one would think, cats being so clean and all, you know, taking a dump and burying it and being all fussy about where their food is and licking themselves constantly, that walking into a stream of urine, let alone wanting to play with it, would not be something they’re apt to do.
But you’d be wrong.
First thing she does, Paris reaches out with her white, furry little paw, head tilted in such a cute way that you just want to take her picture as she’s reaching out to capture your piss. So I’m moving the stream, shifting my hips, I start laughing which only makes control more difficult, I’m trying to tighten up and shut off the stream before she reaches it, I’m peeing around her arm and head, she’s moving now, shifting to the other side of the toilet, I have to pee because holding after you’ve started going is somewhat challenging, I’m pissing again, she’s paused to observe, she leaning out farther and farther, reaching, I’m laughing and, all at once, I’m pissing on my cat’s head.
I know what my reaction would be. First of all, it would be an extremely rare occurrence that you’d find my head anywhere close to a place where there’s even the slightest chance that someone’s going to piss on it. If, through whatever unusual and bizarre circumstances I might be found in such a state, and someone actually pissed on me, I’d be upset.
Here’s what Paris did: Paris sort of shook her head like, “Oh, what is this light (warm) ran falling against my skull?” and then she reached right out and wanted my piss again.
That is not to say that her bathroom interests are limited to my upright activities. Paris is also insanely interested in what’s coming out of the other end, and really, really wants in on the action.
So I’m sitting there, reading Wallpaper or Wine Spectator or Unzipped, and suddenly there’s a cat trying to work her way between magazine and toilet and climbing up onto the edge and really sticking her head down there to see what the hell is going on. Sometimes, she’ll use my undone pants as a sort of platform, balancing on the edges in order to get a better look, sticking her head between my legs and, like, just, really in the toilet.
If I then get up, she’s right there on the bowl looking down at what I’ve left behind and it’s clear� she wants it. She wants that stuff. What is it? What is that cool stuff down there? So I have to flush pretty quickly (right now you’re asking yourself, well, why doesn’t he flush before he even gets up? Well, I have a weird eurotoilet and it doesn’t have a handle one can easily reach, instead is has this ultra modern and completely silly chrome button sitting dead center on the tank lid, and attempting to find and push that sucker while you’re sitting there can dislocate your shoulder, believe me, I know) and then, of course, there’s all that whooshing water lapping around and that’s pretty cool, too, and there she is, leaning way inside the bowl, watching the water swirl.
My toilet activities are not the extent of things, either. If I’m in the shower, she’s doing one of two things. Either she’s sitting on the toilet watching me, or she’s down on the floor madly intent on capturing the water droplets falling down the shower door. When I step out of the shower, she immediately enters and watched the water drain while sitting in a puddle, happily content for the next 15 minutes until the movement has ceased and she can come out and sit in the dressing area outside the bathroom and watch me moisturize.
I’m hoping this is all a phase. I’m also looking forward to having guests over so they can have their own Paris target shooting practice and I’ll know whether or not it is everyone’s toilet that she enjoys, or only my own.
June 9, 2003