Flee the flying feline

By Tiber

We’ve always had lots of pets and Paracelsus, our cat, is one of the most eccentric. He’s had a complete territorial fixation on one of the second-floor bathrooms, ever since he wandered in there once and happened to meow. The meow echoed but to Paracelsus, it could mean only one thing.

 “Intruder cat in the john!”

And forever after, in spite of his busy nap schedule, he still finds hours to hang out in there in hopes of eventually nabbing the stranger. Of course, no strange cat is ever found but since Paracelsus is in there constantly, haunting the bathroom like Moaning Myrtle, he’s had to figure out some way to pass the time.

So when any person comes in, usually an uninformed guest, Paracelsus quickly hides behind the shower curtain. He waits silently until said guest is seated on the john, relieving him or herself, and then the cat makes his move.

He suddenly shoots out from behind the curtain, claws extended, and sails over the head of the stunned person on the john, maniacally grinning all the way until he reaches the drain board on the other side.

By then, the guest has leaped up in a vault of terror, still pissing or worse, pretty much all over the room. I make a point of warning my guests to please check for cats behind the shower curtain before they go in there. Everyone else in the family assures me that they warn their guests too but I know that’s a lie, because they think the whole thing is really funny.

Yeah, it’s funny if you don’t have to clean it up.  Taffy, the maid, has, more than once, found a mess on the seat, the floor, the walls and once, even the ceiling. Mrs. Brunty, the housekeeper, refuses to believe it could be “that sweet cat’s fault” and instead just murmurs to Taffy, “You know…the older guests…”

My guess is, that fearing the prospect of that in her own future, Taffy will probably kill herself when she turns fifty.

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