Confessions of a badboy!

 

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.