My morning routine as of late has included picking up Lucy, our Great Dane’s, shit off the living room carpet. She absolutely abhors the rain and refuses to be in it for more than a few seconds. The other night I tried to get her to poop outside for a half an hour before giving up and going to bed. My husband decided she was sleeping in our room that night. Coincidence she didn’t poop in the house or was this all part of her ploy to get exactly what she wanted in the first place? Methinks it is the latter.
Anyway, so I am normally greeted by two twirling, mewing and starving cats and the beating of a drum, also known as Lucy’s tail hitting the walls of the hallway. Instead I was alone. It was a nice change. Still, there was poop to clean up before feeding the four legged freeloaders, so it took a while before I noticed we were an animal short. I checked in all the usual hiding places, like the litter box, the window behind the blinds, underneath the couch, but alas couldn’t find him. And so I sat to enjoy my coffee.
Normally after eating, our older and bitchier cat, Tuesday, will lay down, either next to me or on her bed, but today she seemed restless. It was as if she was looking for something, or more accurately that other cat who eats her food and poops in her litter boxes. She walked away and didn’t return, so I followed her to the hall where she stared at the linen closet. Of course. Dexter, the other cat who eats her food and poops in her litter boxes, likes to run and jump into spaces we don’t necessarily want him to be. It’s part of his charm. Anyway, I opened the linen closet and out pops Dexter, bypassing me, getting hissed at by Tuesday, growled at by Lucy as he heads straight for a litter box. At least he’s really good about using that. I just wish this would teach him a lesson, but I know that it won’t and he’ll probably end up getting closed into the closet again later today.
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