I would be lying if I said that I was surprised. I came home from work last night to a cat that had pooped ON MY BED.
I promptly reminded Oliver that I live way too close to Chinatown for that kind of behavior and that he is 1 more “accident” away from becoming Dim Sum.
I had plans to meet a girlfriend at a party on the roof of The Rivington Hotel at 8 so I threw everything into garbage bags (the duvet was due for a dry cleaning anyway), closed my bedroom door, covered my couch in foil (he hates foil more than he hates water) and crossed my fingers.
As of 7:45am he hadn’t gone again, but not even on the trainer seat. If I come home to poop anywhere besides where it should be I'm calling the whole thing off and going back to the litter box. Pfft.
(At Marisol’s request I included a picture of the Fat Bastard. Notice the blank guiltless look.)
1 comment:
Whoa! The volume of his defication is impressive to me. Maybe he was going there all day? Oh, this just put a smile on my face. I can't help it; I love that fat bastard!
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