Remember Moto Nimitz, bathroom companion?
Moto decided to help me with my post-shower routine today.
Moto: Hey, you’re wet.
WP: Hey yeah, I am.
Moto: I can pull your towel down.
WP: Hey, now. I wasn’t done with that.
Moto: Yes you were.
WP: Fine. I’ll just put my pants on.
Moto: Those are pants! I want to be in your pants.
WP: Moto, not again.
Moto: PAAAAAAANTS! I’m IN THEM!
WP: GODDAMN IT MOTO.
Moto: PAAAAANTS! Oooooh, whuzzat?
WP: NOT YOURS. *reaches down to remove cat from pants*
Moto: PAAAA–HEY. Not cool, pants monkey. Now this is happening. *pounces on foot*
WP, with pants still down and cat attacking foot: I—agh…NO—MOTO!
…and that’s the story of how I ended up half-naked on the floor of my friends’ bedroom with my pants around my ankles, a cat nuzzling my ear, and a sincere appreciation for the fact that cats use neither cameras nor social media.
This is Moto Nimitz:
This is my most recent conversation with Moto, who managed to get the door open to the bathroom while I was inside:
Moto: Hey, there you are.
Whiskeypants: Uh. Yeah.
Moto: Hey. Hey. Hey.
Moto: Hey, watcha doin? You peeing? Is that what you’re doing?
W: Yeah, seems like it.
Moto: Can I touch that?
Moto: What about this? And are those pants? I want to be in your pants.
Moto: Paaaants! I’m in them!
W: Moto. Moto, stop. Moto. MOTO THAT TICKLES.
Moto: Paaaants! Captive audience! Paaaaants!
W: Cat. I need to leave the room. And walk. *falls over*