Something Rotten...

While I was getting ready to go swimming
I caught a whiff
A whiff of cat box.

Hunny, I called, you really need to clean the cat box.
I will, he said, later.

It's bed time now.
We bring our lap tops in our room
So he can paint and I can play farmville

Again, I get a whiff.


Kiwi is on the bed, sniffing at something.
I nudge her away and grab the blanket
And a fistful of poo.

Cat poo.
A huge pile of it.

I retch, run into the bathroom and scrub
Hubby thinks it was on the cat.

When I explain he jumps up and cleans out their litter box
I clean the mess up and throw the blanket (which barely fits) into our washer.

We decide to lock the cats into the spare bedroom tonight, where their litter box is
We moved their food and water in there too

Last night,
They broke my potpourri bowl in the guest bathroom
Glass was everywhere
On the counter
On the floor
In the toilet

The night before they scratched at the door and carpet and howled.
Yes, HOWLED.
Imagine a cat in heat.
And then one dying.
Mix.

When we lost our jobs
the cats didn't pay any attention to us
Now that we are home all the time
It seems like they need constant entertaining
Or they become destructive.

And, apparently, we need to clean the litterbox on a daily basis.