Dig We Must!
SO I WAS IN my local Walmart and I passed an endcap [industry term] of this stuff:
Oh, sure, I’d seen it before, but this time, I don’t know why, it just really got me thinking: “Cat’s Pride”…? Really? Really?
Shouldn’t it be “Cat’s Shame”?
They use this stuff to bury their business [euphemism], like they don’t anyone to know about it. Like they’re embarrassed – ashamed.
All covered up! Kitty’s dirty little secret! So where’s the “pride” in that?
And as for our beloved Mr. Whiskers, I’m telling you, I could fill a pit ten feet deep with it, and he’d dig to the goddamn bottom before he was ready to let loose whatever he’s been brewing and/or distilling. Believe me, I know – I’m the one who has to go in there and excavate – and brother, it’s a process.
Dig, dig, dig – sometimes I try to make a game of it and pretend it’s 1974 and the litter pan is a box of Freakies cereal and I’m trying to get in there and pull out the free toy car before Mom gets home. Which one will it be this time? Boss Moss? Snorkledorf?
Ah, but the fantasy evaporates suddenly as the air fills with a choking, acrid stench and I’ve hit the motherlode – a big, moist clump of concentrated ammonia.
Not only is my quarry always on the very bottom, ol’ Mr. W. always manages to get it on the side, too – he’s very particular about going up against a damn edge – forcing me to scrape clean two distinct planes. Often he’ll go for the trifecta when he manages to unload in a corner. Thank God I have long fingernails.
“Cat’s Pride,” indeed! –Unless the cat takes some sort of special joy in watching me clean that damn box, dutifully, as a good pet owner should, every three months or so.
By the way, when did you say you’d be visiting?