Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2001-09-05 02:13 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2001-09-05 02:13 pm
Yeargh: "There Is No Spoon" and "Cat Shit"
So I return home to find that there are no bowls in the usual cupboard, and there is no spoon. I'd been planning on having the last of the leftover stew for lunch.
...I'd said as much to Shrimpy at school. "Oh! Bring me some!" he said.
"You are not worthy of my leftover stew," I told him. "Hey! Neighbor! Is Shrimpy worthy of my leftover stew?"
"Nope. I'm not even worthy of your leftover stew."
"Naah, you're worthy of it. Shrimpy, on the other hand..."
"Fine, be mean to me. I'm going to class."
...so I got home and there were no bowls and no spoons. Undaunted, I snagged some Tupperware and a measuring spoon and prepared to reheat the remains of the stew. As I was throwing out the bones, I noticed that Dude had not shoveled out the cat box. So I went to do that. I got it all nice and clean. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and started the dishwasher. I noticed that the cat was wandering around in the hall, but gave no further thought to it. I was heading for my room and the checking of my e-mail when, through my sock, I felt something on the floor squish.
"DAMMIT!" I said. "Dude, bring the cat here NOW."
The accepted method for dealing with kitty potty inappropriateness is to take the fastidious cat to the mess and introduce his nose to it, and then the rest of his face, to get him the idea that this is Not The Thing To Do. I dumped the cat in the litter box, peeled off the stinking and filthy sock, and marched to the laundry basket.
"What about the cat?" Dude asked.
I detailed Dude for the cat face-washing while I cleaned up the floor. I told Nephew to stay out of the hallway while I cleaned up, because Shamash had gone potty on the floor and I needed to clean it up. So of course you know as soon as I'm digging under the sink for the 409 (someone had thrown out the spray bottle, so all we've got left is the giant refill bottle, with no spray attachment) Nephew runs into the hallway, narrowly missing getting cat shit on his feet.
My stern response to this provoked tears, which got no sympathy from Mommy, who had missed the drama of my stepping in the cat shit by about a minute and a half, and got there just in time to almost step in it herself. Nephew learned that when we say an area of the house is off-limits, it remains off-limits until we say it's not, rather than just until we turn our backs.
Oh yeah. When's Bitchy Witchy Week, anyway?
...I'd said as much to Shrimpy at school. "Oh! Bring me some!" he said.
"You are not worthy of my leftover stew," I told him. "Hey! Neighbor! Is Shrimpy worthy of my leftover stew?"
"Nope. I'm not even worthy of your leftover stew."
"Naah, you're worthy of it. Shrimpy, on the other hand..."
"Fine, be mean to me. I'm going to class."
...so I got home and there were no bowls and no spoons. Undaunted, I snagged some Tupperware and a measuring spoon and prepared to reheat the remains of the stew. As I was throwing out the bones, I noticed that Dude had not shoveled out the cat box. So I went to do that. I got it all nice and clean. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and started the dishwasher. I noticed that the cat was wandering around in the hall, but gave no further thought to it. I was heading for my room and the checking of my e-mail when, through my sock, I felt something on the floor squish.
"DAMMIT!" I said. "Dude, bring the cat here NOW."
The accepted method for dealing with kitty potty inappropriateness is to take the fastidious cat to the mess and introduce his nose to it, and then the rest of his face, to get him the idea that this is Not The Thing To Do. I dumped the cat in the litter box, peeled off the stinking and filthy sock, and marched to the laundry basket.
"What about the cat?" Dude asked.
I detailed Dude for the cat face-washing while I cleaned up the floor. I told Nephew to stay out of the hallway while I cleaned up, because Shamash had gone potty on the floor and I needed to clean it up. So of course you know as soon as I'm digging under the sink for the 409 (someone had thrown out the spray bottle, so all we've got left is the giant refill bottle, with no spray attachment) Nephew runs into the hallway, narrowly missing getting cat shit on his feet.
My stern response to this provoked tears, which got no sympathy from Mommy, who had missed the drama of my stepping in the cat shit by about a minute and a half, and got there just in time to almost step in it herself. Nephew learned that when we say an area of the house is off-limits, it remains off-limits until we say it's not, rather than just until we turn our backs.
Oh yeah. When's Bitchy Witchy Week, anyway?
no subject
Plus, when you bury that shitters face in the pile, theres that sense of relief in knowing that your day wasnt the only one ruined by catshit, and furthermore, that the one who's fault it really was, is suffering also.