It's a little bit strange...
...having a cat in yer pants. While yer wearin' 'em.
People who live alone have a tendency to leave the bathroom door open while conducting their business, and that's my policy when DH is away at work. Then one day one of the cats decided that my pants were the perfect cozy hammock slung from my ankles. It's not so easy with shorts or denim, but if I'm wearing sweats or knit slacks then sitting on the loo is a cat magnet, I swear.
If Kismet hears me in the bathroom he gallops in, peeps over the edge of my waistband, then hops inside. He loves it in there. And he taught one of the other boys to do the same. Now, I'm not usually in the mood to sit there for 20 minutes playing with a purring tom in my pants. But initially he was completely unwilling to vacate the garment. So I ended up attempting to shuffle through the house with a 14 lb load of warm, fuzzy, playful CLAWS between my ankles. You don't make much progress that way. And Kismet is a fairly large tomcat, so he easily stretches out whatever trousers I'm wearing.
We've developed a code now. He's welcome to hop into my pants for a little lovin', as long as he hops back out again when I lower the waistband to the floor. He's gotten good at it, really, and I don't mind so much any more. And I no longer walk around wearing knit slacks that have stretched to Hindenburg size around my arse.
People who live alone have a tendency to leave the bathroom door open while conducting their business, and that's my policy when DH is away at work. Then one day one of the cats decided that my pants were the perfect cozy hammock slung from my ankles. It's not so easy with shorts or denim, but if I'm wearing sweats or knit slacks then sitting on the loo is a cat magnet, I swear.
If Kismet hears me in the bathroom he gallops in, peeps over the edge of my waistband, then hops inside. He loves it in there. And he taught one of the other boys to do the same. Now, I'm not usually in the mood to sit there for 20 minutes playing with a purring tom in my pants. But initially he was completely unwilling to vacate the garment. So I ended up attempting to shuffle through the house with a 14 lb load of warm, fuzzy, playful CLAWS between my ankles. You don't make much progress that way. And Kismet is a fairly large tomcat, so he easily stretches out whatever trousers I'm wearing.
We've developed a code now. He's welcome to hop into my pants for a little lovin', as long as he hops back out again when I lower the waistband to the floor. He's gotten good at it, really, and I don't mind so much any more. And I no longer walk around wearing knit slacks that have stretched to Hindenburg size around my arse.