I fell asleep early this morning after having spent the better part of the night packing to move. I slept for about three hours sitting up like a very old woman, wedged firmly into the corner of the sofa, my head hanging backward so that my mouth fell wide open. Suddenly, something woke me up: a violent rumbling in my nether region.
I broke out in a cold sweat, but I felt hot. My mind went quickly back to the little bit of crab salad I had eaten shortly before I passed out. It had been in the refrigerator for no more than three-and-a-half days, so after sniffing it and finding it acceptable, I ate it with Triscuits.
Lots of fiber and an oily protagonist.
I knew this was more than the usual urge to vacate -- this was gonna be explosive. And SOON! Having experienced the involuntary splooge on more than one occasion, I knew that clenched buttcheeks offered no protection. I ran to the bathroom and pulled a backward hover-squat while pulling down my underpants. At least if I shat it wouldn't fall into the Hanes My Ways. But it certainly is better than scooping it off the carpet (although I usually shit all over the toilet seat and then sit in it, prompting a shower instead of a wipe).
So I'm sitting there, cramps bouncing around my lower tract like the mighty Pong, my innards making sounds like actual words. I waited for the gripping cramps to build to their highest point before liftoff, but it didn't happen. Gingerly, I took a deep breath and bore down. That started the pyroclastic flow, which, like a landslide, began slow and built up speed until I was fully involved.
My cat had been sitting on the edge of the tub, eyeing me intently. Each time I looked at her she would turn away, as if she wasn't paying me any mind.
I was trolling out cable non-stop, gravity now doing all the work. It finally came to an end much, to my relief; yet I sat there for another ten minutes or so, waiting to see if there would be another spasm.
I tentatively grabbed the two-ply non-skid and mopped up. I washed my hands thoroughly and turned to face the crapper for the ceremonial flush.
The cat stood up suddenly and jumped to the back of the toilet, where she stood staring down into the bowl. Her ears pointed up, her whiskers slanted forward, she hung ten off the porcelain tank lid, nose pointed straight down as I flipped the handle and the water rushed into the moohole.
It must be one of the mysteries of the universe to a cat, waiting to see where the brown things go. She was still sitting there watching as I left the mooroom and got my coffee.
