It drives me crazy. She is NOT an animal who pees in the house, but to her, this rug must look like a clean toilet during a night of barhopping. I give her the sharp “Aye! Stop it!” and a little kick off of it, thinking about how to tell Shawn that I’m just not going to wash this carpet anymore – I’ve tried everything I can think of the get the cat to stop draining her little dragon on it (which is pretty much nothing, but still? What can you do?), and pretty much the cat just adores peeing on this one shaggy rug.
As I’m bending down to roll up the rug and take it outside, I see that she has also left me some lovely cat turds. Thanks, loyal pet! I take the rug outside, shake off the crap, and realize… that ain’t crap.
My heart stops, and I can’t stop staring at the disgusting site at my feet.
IT’S A CHEWED UPON MOUSE SNOUT – FURRY, WITH WHISKERS ATTACHED.
Good god, I’m shuddering now, just thinking about it. Not-A-Turd #2 turned out to be a random clump of grey fur.
If she learns to talk, my cat is going to be more qualified for today’s job market than I am.
So, was the rug urination a victory pee? Like, how football players spike the ball after a touchdown… maybe Miss Budina was doing a little victory dance, only in her twisted cat world, that means urine must be involved?
I don’t know. And I can’t decide whether I should reward her or avoid her. I’m thinking both.
P.S. We all know journallers are big ol’ cat freaks, what with all the pictures posted and the stories and the fake cat accents in the fake cat conversations. Anyone know how I can get her to stop peeing on this damn rug? It’s making me crazy, and I really don’t think Shawn will take my “Let’s put the rug in a closet!” speech very well.