Damn. Ain’t blogged
in a while.
Guess that makes me a
bad boy. But I have spent many years playing the bad boy role. Even though the “bad
boy” nomenclature is no longer truly appropriate, I clutch to it. It feels like
a favored, heavy flannel shirt.
Maybe, it’s just that
my life is boring.
I could regale you
with Billie Jean’s latest litterbox escapades. (Hey, it’s the best I have!)
Billie Jean, despite
being a sweet cat has some downsides. And who I am kidding. She is not a sweet kitty.
She is Helen Wheels. With sharp claws. And there are more than some downsides.
She has more potholes than the Al-Can Highway.
Anyhow, back to the
litterbox, from whence this story evolved. Talk about potty talk. Anyhow, around
Christmas there was a time Billie Jean stopped using the litterbox. She
defecated and urinated right in front of the litterbox, but not in it.
I was tired. I gave BJ
her own litterbox in my room. I am sure you understand my ecstasy in sharing my
room with a litterbox. Such a pleasure! I learned that Billie Jean can be in
the box and still pee on the edge, splattering urine all over the place.
So, I did what every
good cat-dad does. I got an easel and a flip chart and created a presentation, trying
to teach physical dynamics to a feline.
About halfway through
my three-hour presentation, BJ raised her paw and requested permission to visit
the little kitty’s room. Seemed like a fair request, she wouldn’t be out of my
sight.
She trotted to the
box, went inside and with her ass end clearly out the box. She pooped. On the
floor.
Last time I will try
to teach physical dynamics to an ingrate.
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