An Irrational Fear of Hygiene Products

No, not me. I happen to be a big fan of being clean and sweet-smelling.

The one with the irrational fear of hygiene products is my cat.

As many of you know, I can only guess what Rebecca’s existence consisted of before she wondered into my life. While on the thin side, she was obviously a healthy cat who had been spade and de-clawed. Thinking that she must belong to someone, I waited for two months until my landlady convinced me that I should take this affectionate black cat in and make her my own.

When I adopted Rebecca, I discovered that she had a few quirks — some of which could be preludes to a less-than-solid previous home life.

For one thing, Rebecca is, as discussed before, a giant chicken. She is always hesitant of new visitors and is especially cautious of men. I have some friends who think the stories and pictures of my cat are fabricated as they’ve never seen her.

Rebecca also has, what I can only label as, mildly psychotic episodes. Though I’ve never truly felt my life has been in danger living with her, there have been peeks into a not-entirely-stable mind. I can be stretched out on the couch with her, happily stroking her soft fur, only to have her suddenly attack with sharp teeth and back claws for some imaginary offense I’ve made. She’s also been known, while I’ve been bent over to pick something up or whatnot, to jump on my back and stay there for as long as she can hold on.

I can’t really judge these quirks. I myself have a few idiosyncrasies that many believe to be hints of a not completely sane individual and I can’t fault my cat for the same. But she does have one peculiarity in particular that I just can’t fathom.

She’s afraid of hygiene products.

Maybe calling her “afraid” is a bit harsh. Wary may be the more apt description. When I’m getting ready in the morning, Rebecca usually follows me around while I take my first set of medications, feed the rabbits and brush my teeth. Once I get in the shower, she usually retires back to bed and will merely stare at me with one bleary green eye when I return to the bedroom to dress. I haven’t figured out the specific trigger yet and it doesn’t always happen as Rebecca may be closer to sleep at some times than others, but somewhere between the antiperspirant, body lotion and perfume (as I said, I like to be sweet-smelling), she will take off in a streak of black fur not to be seen for the next ten to fifteen minutes.

I can’t imagine what her previous owners could have done to make Rebecca so afraid of a bottle of Strawberry Fizz glimmering body lotion but there must have been something to get such a consistent and conditioned response from my otherwise sedate companion. If I were truly a loving parent, I would perform my morning ritual elsewhere so as not trigger the slumbering psychosis with a bottle of Very Sexy perfume.

But, like the rest of us who harbor mild and relatively harmless mental conditions, she’s just going to have to deal with it.