Super short story – Toilet frights

It’s been a while since I moved. My butt hurts. Maybe if I move just a bit. Yes, this works. But now I’ve made a sound and he starts calling me again. I’ve turned off the light so he can’t see I’m in here. If I’m lucky he gets bored and moves off, but that never happens. It’s like he knows I’m trapped here and I can’t get out without him attacking me. But he can’t get inside, that’s my only relief.

Last time he cut open my legs. I was in a rush and opened the door before pulling up my pants. He got me bad. It is healing, but there will be scars. The time before that he held my pants down, just to see how I would react. It took all of my coaxing to make him let go so I could dress myself. Visiting the toilet isn’t something you’re looking forward to. Knowing you will be attacked or bullied after you’re done doesn’t help.

Lately I’ve been planning my sanitary visits. Most of the time I go at work. Number two can be planned like that. Peeing is less suitable for planning. I drink less at home, keeping my bladder empty to avoid the hassle. At the weekends, I visit a lot of friends. They haven’t noticed yet, but every time I come by, I visit the toilet first. I hope they don’t mind. It got me over my anxiety over pooping on other people’s toilets.

There is a way for me to use the toilet at home without the risk of being attacked. I could just sneak into the hallway and close all doors behind me. That worked once. I do try, but after several failed attempts I’m not as committed as I should be. He is too fast for me and I don’t want to hurt him. I’m not like that.
It’s been 15 minutes now. My ass is numb and my phone is dead. I have nothing left to delay the inevitable. First I pull up my pants. I flushed before, but once more is always better. I turn on the light and wash my hands. Using the small towel next to the wash stand I dry my hands. This is it.

I crack open the door. A curious head peeks in, looking up at me. He’s so cute… He jumps, sets his nails in my upper legs and climbs up into my arms. It hurts, more wounds to add to the old ones. I hold him close as he nestles against my chest. He starts purring.

I love my cat.