Feline Perturbed…

Why the hell do cats puke on the rug when the linoleum or hardwood floors beckon for their fur balls? Do you have pets that do that? Vomit here and there, but never on a surface that can be easily cleaned.

We have three cats. Boo, our resident black panther, who weighs in at 17 pounds; Maggie, the only girl in the house, besides my lovely bride, weighing in at nine pounds. (My bride weighs slightly more than that.) And then there’s Miles, our 2 ounce cat, who proceeds to puke copious amounts of food all over our carpets and rugs. Two ounces! Well, not quite that light, but sometimes it seems as though he wretches up more than he weighs.

Our former cat, Fenway, used to pee on anything that remained on the floor. Plastic bags, clothes, an errant newspaper, anything was fair game.  And why does Miles prefer plush to laminate? I tell you, there’s nothing comparable to tearing a few squares of paper towel and cupping the still warm, still steaming chunks of cat puke in your hands, feeling the warmth seep into your fingers. It’s especially delightful when you wake during the night to go pee and step barefoot onto these piles of upchuck. It’s the way I like to start my day.

Last week we came back from a few days down in Rhode Island, and as I descended the cellar stairs to check on the cat food level, I narrowly avoided stepping on the hindquarters of a mouse. Only the legs and tail remained. I almost bent down to pick it up, thinking it was one of the 32 toy mice we have littering the house.

Speaking of litter, we have three litter boxes for the felines. (I know; the experts say to have one more than the amount of cats you have, but I pooh-pooh that notion.) Can I just tell you how much poo these cats produce? Jesus, it’s as though we’ve been feeding them the remains of a wildebeest! I, of course, get to do the dirty work, and thank Buddha we use the clumping kind of litter. But still, as I valiantly attempt to excavate the huge clods of crap with my puny, useless plastic shovel, I’m always amazed at how much I exhume.

This should be a daily exercise, but sometimes I’ll skip it for three or four days. Then it becomes quite burdensome. After my strenuous efforts, I must have at least 50 pounds of kitty crap in my plastic bag. And where to put all these excavations of excrement is a valid question.

Usually, if I keep up with it, I’ll toss it into a garbage bag and whisk it away to the dump. But sometimes, after a few weeks of accumulation, I’ll have 10 or 12 shopping bags filled with kitty excretions. The solution? Empty them all into a giant bin, lug it out to my car as twilight settles into dusk, and drive along some deserted back road. With the car idling, I’ll haul out the odorous container and dump the doo-doo into the woods.

Mind you, I do this at a rapid clip. I certainly do not want anyone driving by, to witness my disposal of cat crap into the wild. One time I was in such a hurry that my glasses fell into the mound of litter. It was too dark to see so I drove back home, retrieved a flashlight and went back to comb through Turd Hill to get them. That was a pleasant ordeal, I must say. (Yeah, I heard you; I deserved it.)

Kitties are great companions, but sometimes they can raise your hackles, especially when it’s time to sift the sands for scat.

Something tells me I should stop purchasing those flanks of gnu for them.

Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2012, All Rights Reserved.

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