Like a Soviet tank in the streets of Prague, Titanescu has trouble maneuvering in litter boxes shared with the other two cats, especially after “contributions” have already been made.
Or maybe he’s OCD.
We heard familiar sounds yesterday, sounds which play an ominous soundtrack when arranged together, like the Devil’s Galop. Pellets exploding from the litter box and clattering on the hardwood floor like filthy rain.
A body, landing hard on its feet, clawing at the floor, followed by the hollow thump of another landing, this time in the bathtub. The frantic scratching of the enamel.
What on Ceiling Cat’s green Earth?
Rhuda-an made it to the bathroom just in time to watch Titanescu fixing his death stare upon her as he finished dropping the kids off at the pool.
The second he was done, he leapt out of the tub and skittered out furiously towards the kitchen.
Apparently he’d made a first deposit in the litter box, found it crowded and hurled elsewhere, anywhere, to complete his “movement”.
Titanescu’s version of Angry Birds is that if there aren’t enough unsoiled pellets in the box, he will throw himself at the tub to bake his cake.
The tub. Where humans clean themselves. That’s a message…
Note from Rudha-an: The pellets referred to is Feline Pine. I get the pellets as I don’t like the scoopable version.
