Help! I Have to Pee but I’ve Got This Heavy Furry Thing Stuck on My Lap
feline very conflicted
Attention good people of Medium.com, far and wide:
Hello? Can someone please help me?
My bladder is bursting at the seams. It’s yelling, screaming, bitching to break free. It’s an overfull water balloon ready to be popped and pummeling my lower abdomen with pain as an SOS signal.
But I cannot seek the sweet, sweet relief of a welcoming toilet.
For you see, my bladder is under siege. It’s buried beneath something furry. Something calico. Something warm, whiskered, and smelling vaguely of poop and unidentifiable dried meat.
Something feline.
My bladder’s capturer is an overweight 11-year-old carnivorous mammal descended from African wildcats with sharp retractable claws and teeth adapted to kill small prey.
And she’s sleeping.
Snoring.
On my lap.
Splayed across it like a vacationer in a hammock, the perfect cat model for a poster illustrating relaxation.
This creature is adorable. Precious. Majestic.
Here, have all of google’s top synonyms for ‘cute’ and pick your favorite:
She’s that.
And my lap is the chosen one.
She’s elected to slumber on the few square inches of space atop my bladder. Out off my apartment’s several thousand square inches of bladder-free offerings.
I guess she feels safe with me or something. Happy. Like I’m the lasagna to her Garfield.
I’m her guardian/caregiver/feeder/beverage vendor/manicurist/personal trainer/ masseuse/kneading canvas/catnip dealer/interior decorator/human couch.
And I take all these (caregiving, massaging, catnip dealing, etc.) responsibilities very seriously.
How could I not? Dammit, this scared 15.6-pound lump of fur is the direct heir to a dynasty of royal cats worshiped by ancient Egyptians. (Probably.)
So what should I do?
Do I get up, depriving dear Aubri of her beloved habitat and thus waking her from her blissful slumber, which is so clearly earned after a hard day of eating and purring and drinking and couch scratching (despite having a large expensive scratching post) and shitting and self-licking and hair tie chasing (despite having many frilly cat toys) and meowing and peeing and underneath-the-bed hiding?
Do I dare disrupt The Cute?
Do I commit that sin??!
Or do I suppress my bladder-y urges, staying in the urinary closet? Thus risking pelvic cramps, a urinary tract infection, bladder stretching, pelvic floor damage, urinary incontinence, kidney stones, and/or permanent psychiatric harm including being declared patient zero of a brand new mental illness that involves obsessively reading articles on the effects of holding in one’s pee?
Do I stop the adorable or spare my urinary system?
Obstruct the catnapping or rescue my huddled bladder contents yearning to break free?
Aubri or pee pee?
What do I do?? What do I???
Citizens of Medium.com, the choice is in your hands. You are poets, sages, mentors, self-improvement gurus, advice givers, inspirational problem solvers, and self-care advocates.
I need you.
Pawlease. Help me solve this great moral catastrophe.
