Sometimes I wonder what Mel is thinking when she sees me use the porcelain litter box.
Does she know what I'm doing? Is she jealous that I don't have to get my paws dirty? Does she think I'm doing some alien human ceremony by sitting on this thing? Worshiping some God that makes a flushing noise once enough sacrifices have been made?
I bet she would be jealous if she knew.
I tried to train her to use it. Besides the experiment overtaking my guest bathroom, which was then unavailable to my guests, it didn't work. I still have hope and may try again at some point.
Mel is very picky. If her box isn't cleaned regularly, she drops trough in the middle of the hallway to make her point. Who can blame her? I wouldn't want to use a dirty one either, especially if I had to step in it to use it.
Mel has one box for number one and one box for number two, and she keeps them very separated. If her number two ever has to spill over into number one (there might be a poop left in number 2, God forbid), she gets very cranky. After doing her dirty, she cleans her paws - about five minutes per paw. Mel is the cleanest cat I've ever known. I think she spends 10% of her day sleeping, 40% of her day cleaning herself, and 50% of her time devising ways to kill me in my sleep.
So therefore, I find it amusing, that despite the fact that I don't think she has any idea what I'm doing when I worship the porcelain God, she has to be right there with me and won't give me the privacy that I give to her. (Well, that she demands really. Not that one wants to be in the room when she puts a tootsie roll in the box, but if I happen to be say, using my laundry machine at the same time, I'm made quite aware that I'm invading her privacy and space by the glare and nip on my ankle. She's very modest.)
If I shut my door, she whacks at it with her paw til I lean over and open it for her to come in. And sit. And stare while I make my ceremonial sacrifices. I think she feels left out sometimes.
She'll wind back and forth, rub her head on my ankles, roll over on her back, then usually opens the bathroom cabinet, knocks over everything in her way, and sits (in the cabinet), under the sink until the signal that I'm done (water rushing above her head), at which point she comes flying out of the bathroom cabinet.
Mel's fascination for the porcelain alter doesn't diminish when I'm not using it. She'll sniff around the base. Put her paws up on the seat. Sniff inside. She's been known to shove her head between the lid and the seat. She likes to get her front two paws down in there on the sides to get a good view. And, like a dog, she enjoys drinking out of the big doggie bowl as well. Mel loves fresh water. If her water in her dish isn't changed twice daily, she'll dehydrate herself and jump in the shower with me (that only lasts a few seconds when she realizes she can't drink the water that is pummeling her head, and this leads to a flood out of my bathroom down the hall and usually ends with a sopping wet cat cleaning off that wretched water while laying smack in the middle of my bed, which I then have to take a hair dryer to - thanks Mel). So I don't understand drinking out of the big doggie bowl. But her fascination is the funniest part. She can not figure this thing out. I can only imagine the questions she's asking herself:
"What is she doing?"
"What type of incense is that?"
"I wonder if I can scent that thing too."
"Is that flush noise coming from Mom?"
"Are those other noises coming from Mom?"
"Why would she ruin fresh water by sitting over top of it?"
"Is she blessing the fresh water for me??"
"Awww well maybe I'll let her live to see another day."
One day my little leipschin perhaps you will make your own sacrifices to the porcelain God. Until then, please don't kiss my nose after you've drank out of the big doggie bowl, and I promise to keep your two litterboxes pristine.