I've always been of the opinion that cats are all a bit nuts, anyway, but my newest one is completely bonkers. He's a Maine Coon Cat, so he's a big muscular sucker, and he's got claws like talons. This is a problem because, like all cats, he holds the belief that where he belongs is wherever he happens to wish to be at the moment. Usually, that would be my lap, which is rapidly disappearing under my pregnant belly. He gives absolutely no warning when he's incoming, so all of a sudden, one is presented with a furry, twenty-pound bowling ball flying at speed. And he views his abnormally long claws as handy landing gear, the perfect solution to the inexplicable fact that so many people do not have twenty-pound-cat-sized laps. Right about now, you're saying, "Well, that doesn't sound any different than any other cat, although maybe a bit bigger and heavier." Ah, but the time he feels most inclined to be on my lap - although certainly not the ONLY time - is when I'm in the bathroom, relieving myself. This cat (whose name is Latte, because he's the color of a latte and acts like he's hopped up on caffeine) has a weird fascination with all my hygienic behaviors, and cannot conceive of the idea that I might prefer to urinate without his extremely close company. Now, of course, you're saying, "Why don't you just shut the bathroom door tightly, then?" Originally, I couldn't get it to shut entirely, because the wood had swelled from humidity. Now that it does shut all the way, I am treated to the sight of Latte's paw, extending under the door and rattling it in the frame, accompanied by a loud, forlorn, and repeated yowl that annoys everyone in the house. Nor is this the only time Latte feels the need to join me in the bathroom. Oh, no. His favorite activity is to watch me take a bath. He won't come near the shower when it's running, but baths . . . If he can get into the bathroom, then he has his front paws on the edge of the tub, peering around the shower door at me. If he can't get in, then he's rattling the door and yowling. Last week, I started the tub running, and then realized that I had forgotten my book in the bedroom and went to get it (I take showers for cleanliness, and baths to relax stiff muscles). When I came back, Latte was in his usual position, front paws up on the tub, peering into the water with every appearance of confusion, as though he was saying, "Where the hell is she?" I walked in, and he turned and looked over his shoulder at me, like, "Oh, there you are. I was looking for you." The culmination, though, was a couple of days ago, when I closed the shower door almost all the way to hold the steam in, because I was really cold. There was about a two-inch gap. Over the top of my book, I saw a kitty paw slooooooowly extend through the gap, then scrabble madly at my foot, which was just out of reach, then withdraw. A minute later, the paw slooooooowly crept into the space again, scrabbled madly at my foot, then withdrew. I watched him do this a couple more times, then opened the shower door. Latte happily popped up over the edge of the tub as usual, as if to say, "Well, FINALLY. I've been trying to get your attention for ages." My cat is completely, certifiably insane.