Richard Dreyfus Would Have Stood His Ground

"It smells like piss in here," I said as I eyed the cat, waiting to see if he'd flinch with guilt.

No flinch.  He was close to getting two.

I glared at him anyway.  Damn cat.  Regardless of what he thinks, spending your nights licking your stuff while sitting in the bathroom sink is not acceptable behavior.  Or so I've been told.

Besides, he nearly scared the bejesus out of me and if anyone needs their bejesus intact it's me.  I ain't livin' right.

So it stunk in the bathroom and I questioned my wife about it. 

"I live with three boys.  Of course it smells like pee."

"A) I'm a man, baby.  And 2) I didn't say pee.  Pee is a light tinkle. Pee is an April shower.  Pee is cute.  Statues pee in birdbaths."

She had already left the room.

Luckily for my mouth I have feet and was able to follow her.

"I said it smells like piss.  Piss is the scent in a public staircase.  Piss is a fratboy in the back of a cab.  Piss ain't pretty."

"Well, I didn't pee in there."

Damn, wasn't she hearing me?

I decided that a stakeout was in order.  I called Emilio Estevez and told him that they never should have done a sequel and then I opened a beer and got into character.  I stationed myself just outside the bathroom door, close enough that I could see should someone enter or leave, but far enough away that I could sit on the couch and watch the TV, for it was also a suspect.  What? You can't just rule things out because it's technically impossible.  Duh.

It wasn't long, about four Guinness later, that Thing 1 was standing at my side.  Actually, he was standing at my foot and he was glaring at me like I was some damn cat in the sink.

Apparently I fell asleep.  I had been watching reruns and frankly, it wasn't Billy Mayes' best work.

My son was standing at my foot and he wanted to be carried to the bathroom - the one he had just passed on his sleepy way to wake me up.  The same one he tried to burn down so many months ago.  That's what the guys on TV call a "motive."

I placed my son in front of the toilet (seat up) and turned my back for a second.  Literally.  It was just long enough for me to see something jump out of the bathroom sink and for me to also jump, but out of the room and into the air so as to run my fastest to safety.  I hung there in the air, spinning my legs in cartoon fashion, ready to leave a cloud of dust behind me when I looked down and saw my son, my sweet, unflinching son, as he stood there staring into space and peeing in the trash can.

Yes, the mystery was solved and once again I was right, my wife could eat it, and all was as it should be.  The bathroom was quickly relieved of its mysterious smell and my son was back in bed, oblivious to the entire event.  He can barely recall any of it. 

In fact, the only thing he even vaguely remembers from the entire night is the way Emilio Estevez screamed as he ran down the hall. 

To be fair, the cat in the sink is pretty scary.