Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Undertakings I Have Abandoned Because of Boys

1. Training my cat to use a human toilet
2. Wearing natural deodorant
3. Most likely a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember right now

No one wants to think that they're changing their behavior to attract the opposite sex. Or maybe they do. I don't though. But there have been a few times when I've been forced to admit that that was what was happening. The natural deodorant story is pretty self-explanatory and uninteresting: It failed me and I smelled while trying to woo a guy (difficult, unsuccessful).

The cat training story is a pretty good one though, if only because it's so ridiculous. I had read on the internet that you could teach your cat to use a human toilet and I thought that would be great because I lived in a smallish apartment and it seemed that would cut down on litter smell. And, instead of cleaning the litter box, I'd only have to flush the toilet. So, I went to work on the project. Henry, my cat, was pretty good, but definitely unsure about the whole scheme. What was more convenient for me wasn't really for him. But he took to it, more or less.

He was really great at peeing into the toilet, but the stance for shitting was different and it seemed like he didn't feel totally steady. So, I made him his own toilet seat. I know that sounds like some crazy cat lady behavior, and will admit that it kind of is, but it was meant to be temporary. I took a piece of plywood, cut it into toilet seat shape, removed the lid from the toilet, and attached the plywood in its place, so the plywood sat over the real toilet seat. To attract the cat to the toilet, you have to arrange a sitz bath with kitty litter inside. You cut a hole in the sitz bath, gradually increasing the size of the hole until you just totally remove the sitz bath and the cat is going straight into the toilet. Even at the sitz bath stage, I was feeling pretty jazzed about the whole endeavor because I was already only having to flush after Henry and using almost no litter. The only hassle was having to remove the contraption when humans used the toilet. It wasn't a big issue though because hardly anyone ever came over.

Then one night I went out to a party. My friend and I had decided that we'd only make a brief appearance and have one drink because neither of us were really feeling it, and we both had stuff to do the next day (I had circus class with my ex). We arrived and walked into the kitchen to get drinks. There were two really hot guys standing at the bar/kitchen table. I should note that that almost never happens at parties I go to. I think we said hello, but that was about it. Party was pretty tame. I guess it's actually more fair to say that my friend and I were mostly just hanging out with each other and not socializing a ton. But then at some point, the really hot guy started talking to me and offering to go make me another drink. There were some brief moments of "I don't know. I have to go to circus class tomorrow morning" (Jesus, no wonder I'm single), but I did eventually relent and thus began a night of flirting and making out with this random guy. He was Latvian (I've mentioned him in at least one other post), but his English was great. He made little errors now and then that were adorable (calling the Metro the "Meetro"), but it was, for the most part, not at all difficult to communicate with him.

The night wore on. I think we left the party at about 6 am, if that gives you any indication of the level of intoxication reached.  We tried to take a cab to my house, but a neighborhood music festival was starting later that morning and the streets were closed, so we had to walk the last mile. We, or I, anyway, got to my house exhausted. He had to pee. I went in to check out the state of the bathroom. He followed me in. I noticed that Henry had pooped on the floor (something he was doing every now and then at that point in the training. A protest?). I apologized and cleaned it up and the Latvian said not to worry, he had cats and they did that occasionally as well. But then I looked at the whole toilet set up, with the plywood seat, the sitz bath, the litter and then I looked at the guy and thought, "We're wasted, he's not a native English speaker, this explanation is going to be way too long and weird, I'm so tired..." and then, drunkenly concluded to just not say anything. I actually thought that not explaining the set up at all would be less weird than accounting for the presence of some weird plastic thing in the toilet with pine pellets in it (probably not even identifiable by a Latvian as cat litter). I left him in the bathroom and went to my room and crashed.

He never said anything. I think he probably just aimed through the hole in the sitz bath? I have no idea. It was never spoken of and, a couple of hours after he left the next day (or rather, later that same day), I threw out the sitz bath and wooden seat, reattached the lid, and hauled out the litter box.

1 comment:

  1. Misty was a gorgeous black cat with enormous green eyes and a jealous streak as wide as the Grand Canyon. For nine years, she patrolled my home making feasts of whatever unfortunate rodents and lizards mistakenly wandered into her path. Claiming me as her possession, she'd settle onto my lap each evening while I tapped away on my computer and purr contentedly through the night as long as I paused at regular intervals to scratch her favorite spot just behind her right ear.

    This comfortable arrangement might have continued indefinitely had I not brought a competing female into the house. Sophia was a Latvian immigrant who worked for my publisher as a translator. I was captivated by her from the moment we were introduced. Misty was somewhat less entranced. Despite Sophia's earnest efforts, my cat was determined to exile "the other woman" from our home. Abducting her jewelry, plundering her cosmetics, shredding her gowns, fouling her toothbrush... Misty was a one-feline resistance movement. And movement was the operative word.

    In retrospect, I should have anticipated the next step in Misty's terrorist campaign when I noticed that she had forsaken the use of her litter box. It was a Tuesday morning and Sophia was running late. I'd prepared breakfast, but my harried girlfriend had been delayed searching for her lipstick and mascara and had only enough time to swallow some toast and gulp down a cup of coffee. As she slipped on her heels we solved the the mystery of the missing poop. Naturally, Sophia was disgusted and furious. I shared those sentiments, yet I could not deny a certain grudging respect and awe; respect for my cat's tenacity and awe for her prescience in guessing Sophia's selection of footwear for the day. The awe shortly faded when we discovered that Misty had left deposits in all of Sophia's shoes. It was a catastrophe and I declared it as such ... and I promised to replace all of her shoes.

    Misty's gone now and so too is Sophia. I understand she married a physician. Apparently, she sometimes relates this story of Misty's revenge. In her version, though, she claims that that I pronounced Misty's gifts to be my "cat's trophy."

    Rick

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