Friday night cat blogging: litter wars

Cats have a way of looking at you which conveys certain expectations. They give us plenty of credit, it’s true, thinking we (the pink monkeys) are perhaps smarter than we are. A case in point may be what to feed them, another maybe when to empty the litter box. At best, when we don’t get it, the result is an annoyed meow with a look of disappointment and impatience.

At worst, as was the case yesterday, it will look like something exploded under the bathroom sink where we keep the uncovered litter box.

There was Feline Pine all over the floor in a 360 degree dispersion pattern. No question who did it either. When the naked one does a number 2 in there, a couple of things happen.

For one, he transforms from Kitsune into his evil self, Mazuzu Whang, running through the apartment yelling and growling, leaping on and off the furniture like a chimpanzee on acid and crack. You would think that taking a crap is the single most exciting thing of his day. Then, the stench spreads across the rooms.

Because Sphynxes can dump turds the size of which will make you do a triple take, and boy do they stink. In the first days after we brought the beast home, we used to eye each other suspiciously until we realized who the culprit was: to add insult to injury, he used to miss the box, you see… He’ll then look at us quizzically with his tail curled in a question mark: “do you get it, human?”