Monday, June 3, 2013
Steve v. Mandy
Their feud peaked last week when Mandy pooped outside of our bedroom door during the night. And I mean right square outside of our bedroom door. This was clearly a message but, honestly, I don't blame Mandy - somebody closed the basement door so he couldn't get outside or to his litter box. But I have to admit that he was clearly intent on informing us in no uncertain terms about the unacceptability of that closed door.
So Steve started the day feeling, shall we say, less than happy about being a cat owner.
About 11 am I received a very emphatic text, all in caps, from Steve informing me that the cat "CRAPPED ON THE CARPET AGAIN" (caps his) and that the cat may find himself shipped to a country specially selected for its fondness for frying up felines.
I was also entertained to learn that the cat's only response to Steve shouting at him (I'm sure this was a colorful if one-sided conversation) was that the cat "literally shrugged his shoulders at me. Not figuratively, literally. I didn't even know cats could do that."
A few minutes later I get a text asking me how long I "have had a lump of plastic cat crap lying in wait." I protested my ignorance at the jest, but wasn't exonerated until Ben got home and fessed up to the whole brilliant scheme.
That's right, our youngest son, smelling blood amid the odors of cat feces in the morning, placed a gag pile of plastic poo in the basement before leaving for school. I think Steve summed it up best in the final text I received from him: "Mastermind. That's all I gotta say. Mastermind."