A Matter Of Timing

The cat and I can't seem to get on the same wave length. He is an inside only cat except when he likes to hang out on the porch or take me for a walk. Since the weather has turned cooler that doesn't happen very often. One of the joys that come with having an indoor cat is the litter box. Whether you use the clumping litter and then scoop it out each time he goes or you have one of those new-fangled machines that does it all for you it is never a fun chore. I'm not a big fan of changing the cat box; it kinda makes me gag. I think I may be allergic to the cat litter. Most cats will cover their business upon completion; not my baby. He leaves it out for the world to see and smell. His girlfriend who was a very fastidious little creature used to come running from wherever she was and cover it up for him. (Sounds like a man, doesn't it?) Unfortunately, she has been gone for a few years. Now, if I'm home, it's a matter of how fast I can get outta my recliner and into the bathroom to scoop it out into the commode. What mostly gags me is when I have been gone for several hours and then open the door and am met with a "YOWZA". You look for the guilty party and he's just sitting there purring, happy to see you. At my Pre-Thanksgiving party last weekend guests got to enjoy an additional smell or two to go along with the turkey. I suppose the situation that really causes me a little frustration is the clean litter box. Recently, I had cleaned, dusted, mopped, aersoled, touched up and basically had the place looking pretty good. His Majesty had done both of his jobs, he had a sparkling clean new box and had settled in for a nap. I had to go to town and when I got back and opened the door I almost passed out. Clean box. Clean house. And an odor that you can plausibly scrape off your teeth. I'm going back to town.