by Kip Tobin
MADRID, SPAIN (with remote editing from BROOKVILLE, OHIO)
My cat has bathroom issues.
This is my fault. I live alone, more or less, and tend to leave the door open. Whenever I go in there, El Lío follows. If I take a shower, he sits idly on the shelf under the sink and watches my blurry profile soap and rinse through the translucent shower curtain. If I stand to relieve myself, he perches himself on the shelf and watches the stream enter the toilet, like it’s a liquid string (which I guess, in a way, it is). If I sit down, he jumps into the bathtub and stares at me intently with black-bubbled pupils, wanting to play a game of finger hide-and-seek-attack .