Cat piss, in retrospect...
Tonight my cat pissed on my boyfriend's clothes.
Shitty part? Not his fault. He's not the asshole, unfixed, super-hormonified monger that pees on stuff because it's his instinct. He goes in the box, like a good boy. So tonight my boyfriend discovered the (small) fugpile that had accumulated in exactly less than 2 days had been violated with my kitty's pee pee.
Why? Why, you ask would such a disciplined cat leave such a loathesome present on his clothes? Well, I must admit, it was my fault.
We live in Southwest Florida, see, and this time of year, the weather is absolutely, ridiculously awesome. So, like so many snowbirds/neighbors, we have lived the past few days in open-window, fresh-aired bliss. But then... there's Bubba. Bubba's a dog. He likes cat food. He likes the cat's water. Fuck! He likes the cat's SHIT. And, unfortunately, the catbox lives on the porch, which is one of our vehicles to said fresh-aired bliss. So, naturally, if we have the slider to the porch open, allowing optimal airflow from front to back, Bubba says "shit! carpe diem! no, really, i mean SHIT!" and next thing you know, you're prying litter-covered poo-mush from underneath Bub's puggy jowels.
We have recently explored an avenue that allows us to leave the portals to why-we-live-here-weather open, yet at the same time, delivering us from the evil that is the ickyness under my fingernails when I'm done dealing with the aftermath of Bubba's kitty box invasion. This avenue is turning the opening to the box towards the wall, so puppy can't stick his obnoxiously curious head into it. Of course, this also prevents the kitty from doing his business, but I figure, he's a big boy..he can hold it for a few hours until we tire of taking care of the tornado called Boo-bear, and retire him to his respective sleeping quarters (a cage.).
Apparently, Fizzy gets pissed (woah, like literally and stuff) when he can't make pee pee where he is used to! Thusly, the smelly, cold, wet, grossnes that WAS my boyfriends' shorts. I can't believe I didn't turn the box back. I can't believe I MADE the cat piss on personal belongings. AND NOT EVEN MINE!! It makes me feel shitty. It makes me feel like a bad mommy.
I'm not even sure what my point is, other than I write too much about my pet's excrement or, I need to nut up and pay more attention to my animals.
Who cares? I made a post. I'd like to thank Fizzy, for whizzing on my man's garb and making this brief blast back to the blogosphere possible.
Shitty part? Not his fault. He's not the asshole, unfixed, super-hormonified monger that pees on stuff because it's his instinct. He goes in the box, like a good boy. So tonight my boyfriend discovered the (small) fugpile that had accumulated in exactly less than 2 days had been violated with my kitty's pee pee.
Why? Why, you ask would such a disciplined cat leave such a loathesome present on his clothes? Well, I must admit, it was my fault.
We live in Southwest Florida, see, and this time of year, the weather is absolutely, ridiculously awesome. So, like so many snowbirds/neighbors, we have lived the past few days in open-window, fresh-aired bliss. But then... there's Bubba. Bubba's a dog. He likes cat food. He likes the cat's water. Fuck! He likes the cat's SHIT. And, unfortunately, the catbox lives on the porch, which is one of our vehicles to said fresh-aired bliss. So, naturally, if we have the slider to the porch open, allowing optimal airflow from front to back, Bubba says "shit! carpe diem! no, really, i mean SHIT!" and next thing you know, you're prying litter-covered poo-mush from underneath Bub's puggy jowels.
We have recently explored an avenue that allows us to leave the portals to why-we-live-here-weather open, yet at the same time, delivering us from the evil that is the ickyness under my fingernails when I'm done dealing with the aftermath of Bubba's kitty box invasion. This avenue is turning the opening to the box towards the wall, so puppy can't stick his obnoxiously curious head into it. Of course, this also prevents the kitty from doing his business, but I figure, he's a big boy..he can hold it for a few hours until we tire of taking care of the tornado called Boo-bear, and retire him to his respective sleeping quarters (a cage.).
Apparently, Fizzy gets pissed (woah, like literally and stuff) when he can't make pee pee where he is used to! Thusly, the smelly, cold, wet, grossnes that WAS my boyfriends' shorts. I can't believe I didn't turn the box back. I can't believe I MADE the cat piss on personal belongings. AND NOT EVEN MINE!! It makes me feel shitty. It makes me feel like a bad mommy.
I'm not even sure what my point is, other than I write too much about my pet's excrement or, I need to nut up and pay more attention to my animals.
Who cares? I made a post. I'd like to thank Fizzy, for whizzing on my man's garb and making this brief blast back to the blogosphere possible.
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1 Comments:
Good job, Fizzy. Sometimes no matter what you do they do that - Sanity used to piss and crap in John's shoes for years when he started living with Betsy. My dogs ate everything - ripped it to shreds. At least pee shorts can be washed...
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