I did actually have another post I wanted to put here first, but this was just too awful not to share.
We have two cats in the house. Actually, technically they are Sarah's. But I have lived with them for just as long, so I consider them partly mine. Hell, I clean their litter box. As does Boyd. Sarah had the excuse of can't cos pregnant, and then can't cos of breastfeeding. Ironically, of all the people she would be the best for the job, as she has NO SENSE OF SMELL. Now she is no longer breast feeding, we are introducing her to the long awaited JOY of cleaning up the mess her little darlings leave behind.
Part of this concerns the litter box. You have been warned.
Argo, being male, has this little....aiming problem. He just can't seem to poop IN the box. It's wierd. And smelly. Although not as smelly as his sister - holy FUCK she reeks when she goes, but today, this is all about...the male lack of aim.
The cats are not yet a year old, and are in the process of switching from kitten food to adult cat food. They do not seem to like the flavour of chicken. And so, are somewhat ... fussy ... over the wet food they are given. Biscuits they are usually fine with, it's the tins we have issues with.
We finally found something they like, that is kinda cheap.
All good, right?
/hysterical laughter
They get the runs.
You can see where this is going. But alas, it gets worse. You wouldn't believe it, but IT GETS WORSE.
I just had a visitor in my room. Jumped up onto my bed. Curled up by me. Started cleaning himself.
Turns out aiming the runs is hard. More so when you have fur around your ass. Fur gets in the way. I'm sure you can picture it.
The reality also stank. FYI.
So yes, my memory for this evening, which will no doubt be stuck in my head for a while is this: I just had to use toilet paper on my cats ass.
I hate my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment