LITTER BUGS ME

Hey there, all you cat lovers out in Blog-land! Every day, often twice a day, I have the displeasure of doing cat litter pan duty at Casa de la Flaming Bore. There are three extra super-duper, heavy duty oval pans on the back porch and one small rectangle pan. Diva Muffin has her own place to piddle in the laundry room since the other cats piss her off--literally.

I wouldn’t mind this chore so much if the pee part didn’t clump like concrete. I dig and scrape and chop, and little chunks of urine fly all over the place. By the time I’m done, the litter disposal bag weighs a ton and I can barely lift it out the door. I’m exhausted!! Big Bore has no sympathy. He says all I need to do is to exchange my little plastic pooper-scooper shovel for a backhoe and I’d have those pans cleaned out in no time.

We buy litter by the bulk over at some pet store in the big city. We take our own 40-pound containers and fill 'em up ourselves. A real self-service litter station. If I didn’t have Big Bore as my co-conspirator in living with cats, I’d have to bring bunches of smaller containers, but he does all my heavy lifting. --His back is stronger. That’s all I really want in a man. Someone to haul around 80 pounds of cat litter.

Big Bore, however, is semi-adverse to doing the actual litter box duty, so that task is left for me to do while the cats stand around and supervise.

“It’s about time.” “Where have you been?” "Can't you work any faster?" "You're slacking off." Their stares say it all. And as soon as my work is done, they’re jumping right back in to dirty up the clean pans with their fresh deposits. My self-inflicted labor starts up again.

Now, you might say, “Quit being such a bitch and be happy they aren’t doing their doo-ty in every corner.” Well, that’s a whole other blog topic I’ll spare you for today, other than to say that I’d like to get the hardwood floors re-finished around here, but what’s the point?