A while back I walked into the bathroom to see Savannah perched on the side of the sink happily gnawing on the bristles of one of our toothbrushes. Said toothbrushes are stored in a cup just above the sink.

There was a moment of Oh! Ew! Ick! until it registered that she was gnawing on the spousal unit's toothbrush and not mine. Then my attitude changed to, "Wow, I've never seen a cat gnaw on a toothbrush. Bet that's good for her teeth."

Then it struck me that the cats aren't particularly good at differentiating between my things and the spousal unit's things. So I went out and got the water bottle and sprayed her, thereby telling her that gnawing on toothbrushes is not acceptable.

(Although, if we are being honest, cats are basically furry teenagers in terms of 'tude. My guess is that all the water bottle does is tell them to not do certain things while I am around to see them do these forbidden things.)

So, officially, Savannah has never chewed on the bristles of another toothbrush. After all, I have never seen her repeat this and thus, I am allowed to clutch this notion to my heart.

But honestly?

The moment I head out the door she probably runs into the bathroom and chews on the bristles of our toothbrushes for hours and hours out of pure feline spite.

There is a lot to be said for living in denial.

As befits my elevated status in the household, one of the many headings in my job description--beyond the ever so obvious Love Goddess (and yes, I wrote those last two words with an absolutely straight face)--is Toothbrush Maintenance.

Yes, it is I who watches for drugstore sales and makes sure that we have a steady backup stock of new toothbrushes in our cupboard. There is always blue for him because, as we all know, Blue Is For Boys. There are always a number of not blue for me because I Am A Lot More Flexible Than He Is and any colour on sale that is not blue will do for me.

I am also the one who from time to time casts a critical eye over the toothbrushes in the toothbrush jar and pitches out the ones that look weary. I know. It's a lot of responsibility, but I've grown into it.

After Savannah bolted from the bathroom due to her toothbrush related spritzing, I was left with an important executive decision: pour boiling water over the spousal unit's toothbrush or give him a new one? Well, since the brush was looking a bit sad, I decided to opt for replacement.

Somehow, the story about Savannah slipped my mind for a few days, but then one morning as the spousal unit was brushing his teeth it came back to me. I cheerfully informed him of her toothbrush gnawing ways.

The spousal unit spat some foam into the sink. "Tell me it was your toothbrush," he pleaded.

"Well, I could tell you that, but technically that would be a lie," I told him gravely.

An interesting amalgam of expressions raced across his features. Horror, disgust, and disbelief, all leavened with a soupçon of nausea.

"Tell me you sterilized my toothbrush."

"Well, I could tell you that, but technically that would be a lie," I told him gravely.

Mutely, he stared at the toothbrush in his hand. I think the words Totally Squicked Out pretty much cover his expression.

Yes, I have a dark side. A very, very dark side. But then my better nature came to the fore and I confessed that he was holding a brand, spanking new toothbrush, a toothbrush that had never known a cat's lips, teeth or spit.

Oh, okay, maybe mentioning the words "cat lips, teeth and spit" wasn't the kindest way to handle it but throw me a bone here, it's not often I get to torment tease the spousal unit like this. Besides, he got the basic message and was profoundly relieved.

All's well that ends well, right?

The official party line here now is that our toothbrushes are inviolate, that one spritzing has taught Savannah that gnawing on toothbrush bristles is not something a cat should ever, ever do. Oh yes, everyone in this household is convinced that she has absorbed that lesson and that once we leave the house she would never, ever go into the bathroom and gnaw on a toothbrush.

Never.

Have I mentioned that there's a lot to be said for living in denial?

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 1123.19 miles. Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over