Warning: The following post contains the words Poo, Flush, and Porta-Potty. Squeamish reader discretion advised.
Clarence has been alternately annoying and miserable being stuck inside, and loving and snuggly. And occasionally doped up. Also, he makes me laugh hysterically with his conehead looks. "Hey mom, there ya are. You think you could help me out? I got this itch, see, and maybe you could take this hat thing off? Just for a second?? I'm dyyyyyying. It's kiiiiiillllling me. Aaaaagck. Don't you looooove me?
He is not at all amused by the litterbox, either. When he finally went, he didn't even bury it! Wouldn't that feel... incomplete? Like not flushing? Digression- we all know porta-potty's suck, but besides the smell it's the incompleteness that is so wrong. No flush, no washing of hands. When I worked at Renaissance Faire and camped on the grounds every weekend one summer, I learned this secret: when you're done, say, out loud, "flush". Okay, maybe look around first, see if there's anyone to hear you. But seriously, even if you just whisper "flush", you'll feel so much better. Don't just think it, verbalize it, I'm tellin' ya.
Was that too much information? Because I must warn you, I'm not done yet. Back to Clarence and his unburied poo. Well, I got up right quick to fix the smell, I'll at least spare you details on my plan, but when I got there I saw Sebastian, in the litterbox, burying Clarence's poo for him. AAAAWWW that's about as cute as a poo story can get!!
P.S. I wonder if licking his bonnet is like a mental crutch for the itches he can't reach. Hey! Like saying "flush"!
The perspective I choose
7 hours ago