Since we’ve had Buddy staying with us, there has been a lack of privacy for myself…mainly in that the dog insists on being within 3 inches of my person at all time or else barks, whines, or otherwise freaks out.
And yes, this includes taking a shower and using the bathroom.
At first I fought it. But like the joke about the dog sleeping on the bed (he hasn’t won that battle yet by the way), I soon gave in so that I could pee in peace.
So now the routine is for me to leave the door open while I do my business (I guess if the dog has to do it in the open, so do I).
Tonight, Mel was particularly wicked - beyond the usual growls that are comparable to rolling thunder.
As I sat reading my magazine (I know it’s TMI, but I’m setting the scene for you), Buddy sprawled out on the tile floor, pretty much filling up the rest of the space in my bathroom, but very happy that he hadn’t lost sight of me for even a brief moment. Shortly after, the dog looked from me to right around the corner. He inched himself up and stretched himself out to extend his body length as much as he could to get the best of both worlds and strained to see out of the bathroom. Suddenly he jolted back, but continued to stare.
Next to the entrance to my bathroom is my dresser, upon which the Diabolical Beasty had perched herself, just around the corner of the bathroom.
Torn between venturing more than body warmth’s distance from me and the glaring cat, Buddy wriggled back and forth on my bathroom floor and began to whimper.
After washing my hands, I peeked around the corner of the door to find Mel in a staring contest with the dog and a look upon her face that was absolute delicious enjoyment of her own evil and torment that she was causing.
If I ever lacked the conviction that my cat is an evil beast, I do not anymore after seeing the Cheshire cat grin upon her muzzle.
I chuckled, saying “you’re a real bitch Mel” and walked out of the bathroom.
And for one of the first times in the past 3 days, I now had 3 feet of space between me and the dog.
Held captive in the bathroom by Mel’s evil glare, the dog refused to emerge. Taking advantage of this, I did a quick switch of laundry and put away some dishes – neither of which I’ve been able to accomplish in the past few days for fear of immediate dog slobber soiling.
I came back to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and in an attempt to relieve some of Buddy’s anxiety I partially closed the door to the bathroom.
The next thing I knew, an 80 pound, shivering, shaking weimereiner had himself pressed into me with all his might. Cabinet knobs are not exceedingly comfortable when they are in places they shouldn’t be while being stuck between a frightened pup and bathroom cabinetry.
Cowering behind the door and practically trying to crawl inside of me to get closer, I peered around the edge to see Mel, sitting quietly, thumping her tail, at the entrance of the bathroom. She knew very well that she was cornering us in that bathroom. It was a deliberate act of evil.
Well, I hate to say it, but I wasn’t about to lose an arm while trying to move her, and she is the 2nd in line of the household matriarchy. There was no way in all hell that Buddy was going to go past the fang-dangling ball of fluff.
So for about 7 minutes tonight, I, and an 80-pound dog, once again, were held prisoners by my own cat, in my own bathroom.