Diary of a Mad Black Cat (#2)

I believe it was Plato who said, "what can't be said about poop briefly shouldn't be said at all." Or was it Confucious? Either way, poignant, so I'll try to keep it short.


My cat is technically an "outdoor" cat, but ever since I moved into my new condo a couple of months ago, he seems to regard the outdoors as daunting, depressing, and like something he only wants to deal with if he absolutely has to. Like Walmart.

Suffice it to say that since he's not going outside, he's doing all of his business in his litterbox in my one-bedroom, 740 square foot condo. Said condo does not afford me the luxury of being able to cloister off said litterbox in a hepa-filtered walk-in closet specifically designed to eliminate any unsightliness and odors, as would be my preference.

So as to avoid putting it in the kitchen or other areas frequented by my esteemed guests, his litterbox invades my bedroom's peaceful landscape and is a giant, stinking, pooped-filled eyesore. Like Walmart.

I try to stay on top of keeping his box clean to avoid any prolonged assault on my olfactory sensors (smell it, scoop it, bag it, curse at cat, repeat). Lately though, he seems to be inclined to void his bowels right after I've hung up my poop scoop for the day and crawled into bed.

Just as I can feel myself letting the last shreds of the day go, I hear him climb into his box. What he does with the litter in there is beyond me, but it sounds like a production that is could pass for the creation of a Dubai man-made island. It is precise, it is orchestrated, and for him it seems to be all about producing an atmosphere in which he can enjoy bowel releasing perfection.

Sometimes it starts as a trickle and then hastens into a torrential release. This is of course a massive relief (to both of us, I'm guessing) because I know I can roll over and deal with the clean up in the morning. The times I'm not so lucky, however, are when I hear a few quick kitty grunts followed directly by the plopping sound that can only be made by a good old-fashioned kitty bowel movement.

Then it's a race against time. The permeating smell of his latest creation waits for no one.

I jolt out of bed and make my way to the kitchen for a plastic bag as the smell chases me like a villain in a horror movie. I am clumsy and making too many mistakes and cursing myself for not being prepared for once in my life for Christ's sake.

My cat, thrilled with himself, usually sprints around the house in what I refer to as his "victory lap". What I don't know is if he is celebrating his endeavor, footloose and fancy free, or is afraid the poop will somehow jump back into his kitty bowels if he doesn't get away quickly enough.

Either way, he is too caught up in his celebration/escape and is of absolutely no assistance to me. I'm almost never able to extricate the poop in a timely enough fashion so that my living space does not smell like something out of Slumdog Millionaire.

Anyway, it's nothing with which the average pet owner or parent isn't well acquainted. And I've already said too much on the topic. Luckily for me, when the snow thaws and the spring comes, there's the possibility that he'll head outside and conduct his business in somewhere in nature's bounty. Most parents will not be so lucky.