When I'm doing my makeup, Ziggy sits on the toilet and stares at me. Or he jumps in the sink, cuddles down, and stares at me. Or he climbs into the bathtub and stares at me, until I turn the shower on him and laugh as he sprints into my bedroom, shaking his fur and scowling.

He likes to kick my tubes of lipstick and sniff my hair-mousse. My shower is designed in such a way that I can't fully close the curtain, and the door of my bathroom doesn't latch. So Ziggy pushes his way in while I'm showering, lies on the floor, and stares at me.

He's not a pervert. He's a drag queen. He's diligently observing the art of the applied feminine aesthetic. Luckily, being the budding glam rocker that he is, he's only interested in playing with my cosmetics, and stays away from the toxic cleaning products under the sink. So, I let him play.

When I go into the bathroom, Ziggy's eyes light up. "Momma! Momma! Izzit makeup time? Can I try some of the pink stuff, Momma? Whazzat sparkly stuff and the yummy smelly stuff?" And then he sprints after me before I can close the door.

Most of the time, I just go in to pee. As it makes me absurdly self-conscious to have my cat wending around my ankles while I sit on the pot, I pee while leaning forward with my hand against the door to keep it closed so he can't come in. (Yes, my bathroom's that small.) Ziggy lies outside and pokes his little paws under the door until I come out.

Ziggy can't possibly know how his odd bathroom fetish has helped me. Ridiculous as it sounds, it keeps me from purging. I can’t stand the thought of having to push my feet against the door while my head is in the toilet, keeping him outside while his little paws reach for me through the space under the door.

“You OK, Momma? Whazzat sound? Come out, Momma?”

It would break my heart.

Ziggy is not my ROCK or anything, but he provides more comfort than I had bargained for when I got a cat.

Friday night, out of the blue, I had a full-blast, red-alert, all-hands-on-deck meltdown. I had gone to meet some friends to hear a band play at a beautiful venue. Despite the fun and the company, I began bargaining with the ol’ bulimia monkey about halfway through the evening. (You may not realize that bulimia, like any other self-destructive behavior, is an addiction. For me, it was a cleansing, an external distraction from internal thoughts and voices. It’s hard as hell to let go of, considering the “voices” are still very present.) By the time I boarded the subway for my solo trip home, the monkey was shrieking its familiar and manipulative cry.

"One more time won’t hurt,” it taunted. “You’ll feel so much better. Come on, you know you want to.”

Whoever taught fucking monkeys to talk has some ‘splainin’ to do.

I finally arrived home after the arduous train-ride. I don’t know why, but instead of heading straight for the bathroom, I called a friend. Thank God for that. He saw me through a truly ugly night, and stayed with me when I was at my humblest and most vulnerable. If he hadn’t been home, I know full well what I would have been doing. It was surprising and frightening. I sobbed and snotted and hyperfuckingventilated, pacing miles back and forth across my apartment before finding myself leaning weakly against the wall by my pantry. It was a lovely scene, I’ll tell you. Such drama.

Ziggy stayed by me as well. He followed me as I talked on the phone and paced, and, it seemed, he cuddled more than usual. He put his face right up to mine as I petted him.

Those sources of support were at once present and absent. My physically absent friend stayed with me emotionally through the miracle of technology, and Ziggy, while physically present, was my cat, for chrissakes. I’m grateful for them both.

I’m not trying to find parallels between my feelings for my friends and those for my cat. I’m just saying, it bowls me over how sometimes what you need finds you at the most crucial times.

That is all. I'm fine for now, but a bit sleepy.

“Meow.”

Nope, no pictures yet. As soon as I stop getting bent over by the IRS, I'll look into buying a digital camera.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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