He's lucky he's lovable, sweet and kind.
Or we'd stomp right on his fucking shitting-on-the-floor cat head and squash his brains on the floor right next to the steamer he leaves.
Like I said, he's pretty darn sweet other than this. And he's taught me my new life mantra, "Nobody's Perfect" so he's actually a TEACHER, Reader, kinda like the Dalai Lama. And I do like the Dalai Lama.
So we don't squish his head under our feet and instead we just clean up the poop. With a lot of bitching and complaining.
Today?
Kenny didn't see the pile of poop. He didn't even notice it until the stench caught up with him. After he'd traipsed around the house.
I did that once before, too, so I can't judge him for his unwitting behavior.
Tonight? We got to steam clean the carpet as soon as I got home from work.
Good times.
Nobody's Perfect? I'm pretty fucking close, for excusing that bad cat behavior and still showering his nose with kisses. Because did I mention how sweet he is? He is. He's lucky.
Now we know why he was a year old and at the pound. Now we know.
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