I don’t have to get de-wormed. Good.
Yesterday, I did, however, have to drag a 50 pound dog crate upstairs from the basement to house the little poop-machines. Apparently it’s wise to crate the kittens until they get the idea of how to use the litter pan. Locked in with said pan, they are crapping themselves silly. Little play dough coils of tan are everywhere to be seen and SMELLED…who knew something so small could stink up the town so badly?
Last night Sam and I were playing with the kittens. All was well. Then suddenly Sam yelled; “Oh shit!”
I asked him what was wrong and he said; “The cat took a shit on the bed NEXT to me!”
Sure enough we weren’t watching their every tiny move. Instead we were too focused on watching the new season of “House.” Our bad. One of the little fuckers crapped about 6 inches away from Sam’s hand. How he did not notice this going on is astounding to me. He must have very good concentration or was too buzzed from carb-loading at dinner.
Good thing I didn’t have the clean sheets back on the bed. Why bother? That mattress should be burned after this foster session is over and done, anyway. Yecch.