The Next Time I Go Shopping by Ellen Dooling Reynard

Little does she know that when she goes out, I use her bathroom. Out of sensitivity for her squeamishness, I always wipe the toilet seat with Lysol after I’ve finished. She is totally unaware that I have almost used up the supply she keeps under the sink. The next time I go shopping, I’d better get some more.

  Oh, she doesn’t know I go shopping, either. But that’s more complex. I have to wait until she’s out of town and leaves the car here. Then I can make leisurely trips to Safeway, mail my credit card payments, get cash at Wells Fargo. She would never get how I manage to do all that.

  I’ll bet you’d like to know, right? How I get in and out of a firmly closed bathroom? She leaves the door latched, of course, because when I was a very little I used to unroll the toilet paper. But I’ve outgrown those childish pursuits. Now, I actually leave her bathroom cleaner than she does.

Anyway, enough about bathrooms. I was going to relieve your curiosity about how I get in and out of her bathroom, how I drive a car, go to the grocery store, etc.

I guess you didn’t know that all cats are shape-changers.

Ellen Dooling Reynard spent her childhood on a cattle ranch in Jackson, Montana, where her mother homeschooled her and five brothers and sisters. Raised on myths and fairy tales, the sense of wonder has never left her. A one-time editor of Parabola Magazine, and co-editor of A Lively Oracle: A Centennial Celebration of P.L. Travers, Creator of Mary Poppins (Paul Brunton Philosophic Foundation, 1999), she is now retired and lives in Nevada City, California where she writes fiction and poetry.

2 thoughts on “The Next Time I Go Shopping by Ellen Dooling Reynard”

  1. I don’t know about shape changing but I do know they have senses that know who’s approaching the front door and how they think about them They know when you’re sick and try to make you feel better. When they’re sick they stay away. It’s an honor to share their life. My friend Gigi now has diabetes. She’s like a hungry ghost. It’s the insulin shots.

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