Last night, the cat committed the most heinous act of desecration I've ever witnessed. I'm pretty sure it was the abomination which causeth desolation, which means the end times are here, and no prizes for guessing the identity of the Beast.
We were in the kitchen putting away the remains of supper. I had just poured a glass of port and was smacking my lips in anticipation, when I looked down to see the cat contorted into a kind of hunched position. He was wriggling. It looked... wrong. I put down my glass.
Suddenly he scooched forward with his tail straight back, rear end pressed to the floor, and oh dear GOD, there's a TRAIL! He's leaving a trail behind! THE CAT. IS WIPING!? HIS YOU-KNOW-WHAT! ON. MY. FLOOR.
I froze, I admit it. I stood aghast while the cat left 10 foot of brown skid mark across the kitchen, until: plop! he completed his giant fecal exclamation point with a small, round poo.
That broke the spell. With a rush, my ears filled with the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth. "Feline apocalypse!" I wailed. "Noisome plague!" I gnashed. "Thou art as wormwood, bitter in my mouth!" I hopped about in a frenzy of rage and indignation. Rachelle and I ran to and fro like chickens after samurai practice, shouting obscenities and tripping over each other in an attempt to catch the cat but not *touch* the cat and find a rag and clean the floor before one of us slipped in it.
Still, after the cleanup and the cursing, I have to grudgingly admit: he does have a wicked blasphemous dark-as-sackcloth kind of style. He may be a cat out of hell, but I guess he's worth his weight in anecdotes.
Years ago, when my brother's cat was still a tiny kitten, he got sick. I can't remember where exactly in my folks' house he was, but he came down with a case of massive diahrrea. Somewhere on the main floor. And the kitty litter was on the top floor. Mom, not quite thinking right, picked him up, thinking that she would carry him to the litter box (at the time, he was scared of stairs). He left a trail of runny poo long enough to cover 2 halls, a couple rooms and a stairwell. Oh, and of course, my mother's cupped hands... EWWW!!!
I'm so thankful that I've never had these problems with Glossy. She may be kinda crazy, but she's anal about her litterbox. Even hairballs, she always coughs up in the same place (which is on my bathmat and while it may sound gross at first, it's actually very convenient for clean up purposes)!
Hmmm, I guess you were feeling very thankful last night that you pulled up that carpet and put down the laminate last year, eh? :-)
That would be the sign, in tractor-trailer sized block letters emblazoned on a skyscaper, "Pay attention to me. ME. And not that interloper which you are fawning over. Pay attention. Now. Please."
And because it wasn't me, I kind of have to applaud Mao's style.
LMAO!!! That is all.
Hm...Dogs do that when their anal glands get impacted...remember Tricki Woo going flop-bott? Maybe he needs to go to the vet and have a good squeeze...but it's much more likely that he's just PO'd over his little rival.
Peter this is a very well written and very funny post. Happy Days!
Having had the same experience with my cat I can confirm it's funnier reading about the experience than living it.