No Rest In This Room
I am single and a mother. Translated from Greek into Latin, to Arabic and back into Swahili, that means “One who sleeps with one eye open and never closes the bathroom door for fear of what might happen”. It has been a long time since anything disastrous happened in the 6.2 seconds I need in the bathroom (you have to make it an art of speed when you have children) but still, old habits and fears die hard. Plus, my bathroom is off a little alcove in my bedroom, the room where LM is not permitted, so I have little to no need to ever actually close the door. (ed.note: if ever there comes a significant other into my life, the door WILL close. I am a bashful pee’er and I just don’t desire that sort of intimacy.)
Over the years what has happened is that my pets have seen this moment of solitude as their moment for some attention. I am, after all, a captive audience. Usually it is Scout who seems to sense the exact moment I head in that direction and follows me in. She’ll be so close on my heels sometimes that I nearly step on her. She comes in and in typical feline fashion has to rub against my legs, against the counter and move just far enough out of reach that I can’t possibly pet her and then ‘mew’ at me to remind me she’d like a little love today. It’s the ‘mewing’ part that means disaster. Gabe can hear a ‘mew’ from 100 yards away and knows that the kitties don’t talk to themselves, they talk to ME, which means someone is getting attention and it’s NOT HIM. He comes running. All 200 pounds. Into the room that is big enough for only one being of that size.
As I mentioned, my bath is down a little alcove in my room. Which means, Scout is in trouble. As Gabe rounds the corner in the hallway, she senses her doom. What follows is a complete mêlée with me innocently in the middle. Fur flies, the cat growls, the dog gets all worked up and I end up scratched in an inexplicable location from one or both of the beasts. Eventually, Scout will make a bold dash right under Gabe’s legs for a daring yet successful escape.
In the meantime, Jonah has wondered what all the ruckus is all about and has come to watch. He will sit just inside my room where he can view the action while staying out of Gabe’s line of sight. Jonah wants to be a part of everything but he’s more than willing to let Scout be the sacrificial lamb if necessary. Trouble is, the moment Scout makes her escape, Gabe will certainly turn to run after her and will catch the blissfully-unaware-Jonah off guard. Jonah will turn into panther-cat, fluffing himself up to the size of a cat about his original size only with fluffed fur, and will hiss and spit and slap Gabe for all he’s worth. Luckily for me, the battlefield has moved outside of the bath, but unluckily I am still unable to pass by as Gabe is now cowering in the hallway afraid of his very next breath and the smack he will receive from Jonah for having dared to even breathe it.
Intervention is now necessary. I have to talk Jonah down from his fit of anger and remind him that he did step into the other beasts’ business when he should have just minded his own. Then I have to remind Gabriel that he is 12 times the size of the cat and surely he can walk past and on out of my room before the day is done. For myself, I have to push past the dog to get back out into my room and into the rest of the house to find out what LM has been up to during this entire time. Oh, and to get the vacuum to clean up the fur that’s all over my bathroom floor. Apparently, "bathroom" translated actually means "Battleground for attention-starved animals". Who knew?
Over the years what has happened is that my pets have seen this moment of solitude as their moment for some attention. I am, after all, a captive audience. Usually it is Scout who seems to sense the exact moment I head in that direction and follows me in. She’ll be so close on my heels sometimes that I nearly step on her. She comes in and in typical feline fashion has to rub against my legs, against the counter and move just far enough out of reach that I can’t possibly pet her and then ‘mew’ at me to remind me she’d like a little love today. It’s the ‘mewing’ part that means disaster. Gabe can hear a ‘mew’ from 100 yards away and knows that the kitties don’t talk to themselves, they talk to ME, which means someone is getting attention and it’s NOT HIM. He comes running. All 200 pounds. Into the room that is big enough for only one being of that size.
As I mentioned, my bath is down a little alcove in my room. Which means, Scout is in trouble. As Gabe rounds the corner in the hallway, she senses her doom. What follows is a complete mêlée with me innocently in the middle. Fur flies, the cat growls, the dog gets all worked up and I end up scratched in an inexplicable location from one or both of the beasts. Eventually, Scout will make a bold dash right under Gabe’s legs for a daring yet successful escape.
In the meantime, Jonah has wondered what all the ruckus is all about and has come to watch. He will sit just inside my room where he can view the action while staying out of Gabe’s line of sight. Jonah wants to be a part of everything but he’s more than willing to let Scout be the sacrificial lamb if necessary. Trouble is, the moment Scout makes her escape, Gabe will certainly turn to run after her and will catch the blissfully-unaware-Jonah off guard. Jonah will turn into panther-cat, fluffing himself up to the size of a cat about his original size only with fluffed fur, and will hiss and spit and slap Gabe for all he’s worth. Luckily for me, the battlefield has moved outside of the bath, but unluckily I am still unable to pass by as Gabe is now cowering in the hallway afraid of his very next breath and the smack he will receive from Jonah for having dared to even breathe it.
Intervention is now necessary. I have to talk Jonah down from his fit of anger and remind him that he did step into the other beasts’ business when he should have just minded his own. Then I have to remind Gabriel that he is 12 times the size of the cat and surely he can walk past and on out of my room before the day is done. For myself, I have to push past the dog to get back out into my room and into the rest of the house to find out what LM has been up to during this entire time. Oh, and to get the vacuum to clean up the fur that’s all over my bathroom floor. Apparently, "bathroom" translated actually means "Battleground for attention-starved animals". Who knew?
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