As you may or may not have heard, Peep #1 had a birthday last week.
How old is she, you ask?
Well you know that saying 'bout something bein' as old as the hills? Let's just say, the peep's older.
But back to the birthday. The peep and a mutual pal of ours were chattin' over on Facebook, when our mutual pal asked if Rushy and I had given Peepers a prezzie.
And the peep...
And the peep, bein' a peep, responded with a glib, not-so-funny-as-she-thought-it-was kinda answer. She said neither one of us had peed on her yet, so that was a start.
Can you believe it?
First of all, there's a sayin' about bein' peed upon by a cat, bein' lucky. Not so lucky as not bein' peed upon, I suppose, BUT IT'S A SAYIN' NONETHELESS.
And secondly, the peep may have, in fact, spoken too soon. Or maybe it's a case where she spoke when she shouldn't have. OR POSSIBLY, she should have made sure I didn't have access to her messages and chats and overhear what she was sayin', 'cause...
'Cause you know what they say.
FAMOUS. LAST. WORDS.
NO, I did not pee upon the peep. Neither did Rushy. I don't think.
But on the mornin' after the birthday, Peepers walked into the sunroom and thought to herself, something isn't right. She sniffed the air. Then sniffed it again. Then thought, something smells awful in here.
I know, I know... I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin', one of the peep's stupid plants had started blooming and was stinkin' up the house. You know, like her stupid little citrus trees, or the plumeria, or somethin' like that.
WELL THINK AGAIN, my friends, for the peep is a lousy gardener and most of her plants never bloom.
So the peep looked about and what did she see?
Well let's just say...
The next thing I heard...
Was WHAT CAT POOPED IN HERE?
Now let me tell you somethin', my friends, IT WAS NOT I. Nope, no sirree. I was not the offending kitty. It was Rushy, for sure. I can guarantee it.
And you know somethin' else? The peep realised it was Rushy, too.
Now I know, I know... I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin'... Actually, you're wondering, how did the peep know?
Well get this, my friends: Peepers knows the difference between our - Rushy's and my - poops.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?
What IS it with peeps and their fascination 'bout what we cats do in the litter box? Or in this case, on the sunroom floor. WHAT IS IT? I mean, do we cats go 'round inspecting the toilets of peeps? OF COURSE NOT. That would be gross. Gross beyond gross. Grotesquely gross, for sure. Never once have I done such a thing.
So why is it that peeps are always stickin' their noses in our litter boxes? WHY?
Okay, so they don't LITERALLY stick their noses in there - thank goodness - but you know what I mean, right? Of course you do.
What I do in the litter box is between me and the box. Yes, I do appreciate the peeps gettin' in there and scooping it out as soon as they possibly can, but THEY CAN KEEP THEIR OPINIONS 'BOUT WHAT THEY'RE SCOOPIN', TO THEMSELVES. No kitty wants to hear if their poopies are smellier than normal or soft or messy or neat. Just scoop and be done with it, Peepers. Scoop and be done!
What happens in the box stays in the box.
Okay, so to clarify, WE KITTIES DO WANT you to clean our litter boxes out. But there's no need for a running commentary on the subject. Got that? We deserve a little litter box privacy, you see.
And the very fact that Peepers knows the difference between my poopies and Rushy's poopies means SHE'S GIVING WAY TOO MUCH THOUGHT TO WHAT SHE SCOOPS.
So the bottom line is...
Okay, the bottom line is, it was not I who pooped on the sunroom floor for Peep #1's birthday. That, and the fact that peeps' fascination with cats' litter box habits is somewhat unnerving.
Unnerving and gross. Grotesquely gross, for sure.
Not to mention weird.