DUDE. Chucky pooped all over himself yesterday. NASTY.
He came in from the laundry room all scared and ashamed while waddling toward me at the kitchen sink. I eyed him suspiciously.
I have never had any incidences with him not using the litter box. I never expected to pick him up and find fresh stool matted to his entire body. I knew as soon as I grabbed him and felt his wet fur squish between my fingers something was terribly, terribly wrong. But in my usual groping manner I pulled him to my chest to smother him. It was only after it was too late that I realized I just gave myself a cat-poo stamp right on my new shirt. Decent maternity shirts are hard to come by. I was pissed. I raised my fist to the sky and cursed whatever deity had allowed this.
I immediately threw him in the sink. I grabbed his neck and head in the palm of my hand and soaked his entire body. I had to peel the little turd strips from between each cat finger.I learned that cats don't really enjoy baths. I felt so used.
After I had a sopping wet kitten that was pretty awesome-looking so I then I made him have a photoshoot. Look at how angry he was:
I dried him off sufficient then let him escape my evil grasp. Two minutes later he came and crawled onto my lap and wanted to cuddle. I finished drying him and was glad he didn't hold grudges.
After this shenanigans I had an epiphany:
In 3 1/2 months when I have the baby, my life will consist of scrubbing feces off of little animals. Not very awesome. I hope it cuddles after. amen.
P.S. The smile on my face is fake. Being pregnant sucks at least 75% of the time.