STRANGER THAN FICTION: TOOTHBRUSH SHARING USHERS IN NEW ERA WITH PET

My gag reflex is very healthy. Too healthy, really.

That's why I can't have children. One poopy diaper and BAM! double the mess.

So imagine my reaction last week when I woke up in the middle of the night, staggered into the bathroom and discovered ...

My cat was licking my toothbrush.

He was sitting on the counter, leaning toward the bristles and going for all he was worth.

I almost lost it, but managed to sputter weakly, "Kitty, NO!"

He looked back at me insolently before returning to his treat.

Of course, I threw away the toothbrush immediately and started using the one my dentist gave me. I keep it in a travel case on a high shelf of my medicine cabinet. I'm telling myself that, because Bosco doesn't have opposable thumbs, it would be absolutely impossible for him to lick the toothbrush ever again.

But who knows?

The worst part was when the full understanding of my situation hit me in the cold light of day.

We picked Bosco up from the Santa Rosa County Animal Shelter in Milton, Fla., in May 1997. He was able to jump on top of the bathroom counter a couple of months later. A couple of months after that, he started jumping on my lap and trying to sniff my mouth whenever I chewed mint gum.

Four years. A new toothbrush every four months. One cat who likes mint.

Let me do the math for you.

I've shared 12 toothbrushes with my cat.

This would be the same cat whose other favorite treat is his own rear end. I remember a particularly embarrassing conversation on the matter with a houseguest a couple of years ago. Bosco was cleaning himself in front of us.

"Kitty, NO!" I said, blushing a little. I tried to use humor to diffuse the gaffe. "I don't know why they don't just make butt-flavored treats."

My guest shrugged. "They do. They're called butts."

He's a cat owner.

Anyway, my discovery certainly explains a few things. Bosco's unusually fresh breath, despite the fact that he has fish-scented cat food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. His sparkling smile. His total lack of unsightly coffee stains.

And then there's the mysterious disappearance of my bath beads and body spray. I couldn't help but notice his lavender fragrance the other day.

Of course, now that this wall has broken down between us, I imagine we'll be using the same plates, filing our nails together and brushing each other's hair.

BARF!

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.