Well, my friends, the time finally came. I was home alone with the cats, Rocco and Chino. “YIPEE!” you say, but don’t cheer for me yet, Barcelona! I was outnumbered, the cats were unsupervised, and I was at their mercy. I was scared.
I had to go to the bathroom. Not surprisingly, Rocco followed closely behind me like a tiny furry parole officer. Chino , the black cat, didn’t see this as an opportunity to annoy me or get into any mischief with me because the situation didn't concern him. So he slinked off into the dining room and left me alone and at the mercy of Rocco, who seems to either like hanging around me for some reason or he keeps looking for ways to torture me when his owners aren’t home.
While I was on the commode, Rocco jumped up to the stool near me, seemingly content on staring me in the face while I sat there. No blinking. Just unbroken eye contact. Creepy! Very creepy!
After I finished, I stepped over to the sink to wash my hands. As I flushed the toilet, Rocco stretched out his lithe body and leaned over with his front paws to grip the brim of the commode to watch the water swirl around. I looked over at Rocco and said, “Oh, you like that sound, eh?” Unmoved, Rocco looked at me like, “Whatever.”
As I headed out of the bathroom, I saw that Rocco was still in the same position over the toilet. “Come on, Rocco. Come on, boy! Come on, Rocco!” Nothing.
He looked at me and then back into the watery abyss of the toilet, signaling me to flush it again like I had misunderstood my role in the household. So, I flushed the toilet again like a highly trained circus animal.
(Oh, how this cat has me in check already!)
So I went back over to the toilet and flushed it again.
Rocco looked back into the toilet and again focused his attention on the water swirling around. When I thought he had had enough of this innocuous fun for the day, I yelled out, “Come on, boy. Come on, Rocco! Come onn, boy!”
I know he heard me because he looked over at me as I repeatedly called his name, but he didn’t budge because he just didn't care. I pursed my lips to let out a cute little whistle and called out his name again, “Rocco, come on, boy. Come onnnn!”
I snapped my fingers into the air to no avail. I even called his name in varying degrees of intensity, ranging from an enticing softness to a threatening banshee shrill. He remained undisturbed. So, I left him in the bathroom in the same position over the toilet, waiting for another flush that would never come.
Now dogs, mind you, would respond to me whether I whistled at them, called their name, or yelled, “Get your butt over here!” But not Rocco. He understood what I was saying, but he just didn’t give a shit!
AND THIS, PEOPLE, IS WHY I WILL NEVER OWN A CAT.