Apr 21, 2003

Yes, I have a cat. Yes, his name is Cujo. And yes, yes, he shits all over the place.

At first I thought it was just a product of moving about a year ago. He used to have a back yard to go in, and now he doesn't. I figured he'd adjust in time. Nope.

So I've more or less resigned myself to living in a house full of cat shit until his natural death which should be within the next ten years or so. Fortunately, I have no social life and never have dates to bring home, so nobody notices.

Oh, sure, I clean it. But, due to the science of cat-shit removal, you have to live with shit on the rug for a while first. I'll explain:

In order to effectively remove shit from a carpet, you have two options: One is to remove it immediately, which means the gooky shit will get smeared in to the carpet, forcing you to then get a sacrificial sponge to clean up the excess. The other, more effective method, is to wait for it to become hard and crunchy, allowing you to pull it out of the rug all at once with a paper towel. This leaves no residue, but requires you to have a turd on your floor for several hours. It is this second method that I use because, frankly, nothing is more disgusting than feeling the warmth from a steamy pile of shit.

So I find myself in a situation where I sit at work hoping that Cujo is shitting on the rug, so it will be crunchy by the time I get home so as to be ready for immediate removal.

Meanwhile, the cat box has only excrement from my other, perfectly behaved cat, Blofelt.

Such is the life of a man who has resigned himself to living in an oppressive Feliocracy.



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