Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Thursday, April 26, 2012

If You Can Keep Your Teeth When All About You Are Losing Theirs...

A mysterious ailment has befallen my Colgate toothpaste.

Pasty was all hale and hearty a few short days ago. Robust. Turgid. A breathtaking specimen of toothpastehood. But now he's been cut down in his prime. He lies listlessly in the master bathroom drawer. When placed upon the counter next to the sink, Pasty is a sad panda. Several dents dot his skin. But that's expected of aging, aluminum-based hide.

Pasty's appearance is not what garners my concern. When uncapped, Pasty has lost some of his get-up-and-go. Rather than emitting a firm rope of enamel-scrubbing mucilage...Pasty sputters out gas, fluid, and runny fang-soap. I fear that Pasty had met with a life-altering accident. Or a dastardly, premeditated deed.

Hick, my prime suspect (c'mon, you know he was the first culprit to come to YOUR mind, too), normally maintains his dental hygiene from the confines of the shower. Yes. I know it's disturbing. But he has his own tube of toothpaste that he lines up on the top of the metal track that holds the opaque doors of the walk-in shower. His toothbrush rests on that lofty perch as well. No holey wall-holder for his chomper-scrubber. So I'm having a hard time pinning this crime on Hick.

I put myself in Pasty's tube. Perhaps Hick was in a hurry. Chose not to shower in the A.M. after finally recognizing the superfluousness of an evening bath and morning shower. And snatched me up for a quick brushing over the sink. Held me in a firm grip, squoze me too near the running faucet under which he dangled his Oral-B Advantage Plus, thus causing me to suck water into my innards.

That has to be it. The only alternative scenario is a near-drowning accident in the jetted triangle tub in which The Pony is wont to immerse himself two-to-three nights per week. The Pony is too old for tub toys. And even if he regressed, he knows that Pasty is not a toy. There's quite a distance from the drawer to the tub. It's not accidental-knocking territory.

Surely Pasty is not a product of China, as some of his brethren who came before him. Because I do not feel like being slowly poisoned by an antifreeze ingredient. Besides, he was fine last week.

I may need to start chewing on reeds. Because if the Hick script is true...where did he get that toothbrush?


Sioux said...

I would suggest the installation of a bathroom safe. Your toothbrush, Pasty, your glycerine soap that you usually hide in the closet but your husband has found it and uses it--oops, sorry, that's me. Books that you want to read in the bathroom but worry that someone else might splash water on could be kept there as well.

We have one. It's a must-have. And I imagine there are other things you'd like to keep in there as well...

Stephen Hayes said...

Quite the mystery. As Sherlock Holmes would have said, "The games afoot!"

Leenie said...

Your writing is over the top fun to read. I love all the ways you find to say toothpaste and toothbrush. Nothing boring there. Now you leave your readers hanging with a mystery.

I understand antifreeze tastes strangely sweet. Where DID Hick get that toothbrush?

Leenie said...

btw-- as scary as it looks, Thomas almost LIKES a bath.

Val said...

Into my brand-spankin'-new bathroom safe would go my toothbrush, my tube of hair conditioner that mysteriously turns anorexic and withers away, my razor that dulls overnight, and my towel that seems to wet itself while hanging out insouciantly at tubside.

Unless that towel has contracted the same illness as Poppy, it should remain dry. Or I will have to make a note never to put it on my new white couch.

It is a well-known fact that I hate feet. So if you could kindly refrain from mentioning them I would greatly appreciate it. For example, you might exclaim, "The game is at hand!"

Or even, "Soup's on!" Which doesn't make sense, but leaves out that reference to sock-wearing appendages.

OH, GOSH! I hope I'm not too late! Lay off the antifreeze, Leenie! It's poisonous! And don't get too attached to anybody who describes the taste to you!

I'm hoping this was some kind of paranormal incident, because I don't want to IMAGINE HICK PUTTING MY TOOTHBRUSH IN HIS MOUTH AND THEN PUTTING IT BACK FOR ME TO USE.

Leenie II,
I do not trust a cat in the sink. Not even without a sprayer. I would need a suit of armor to attempt such a death-defying feat.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

toothbrushes are not meant to be shared ....

Val said...

You're preachin' to the choir, sister! Hick is the one who needs to mine that nugget of wisdom.