Poopmeister

My older daughter has been waking me up at 5AM this week -- it hasn't been all too bad. I'm not a morning person, but have been making a go at it. I'm trying to get more time out of my days. So I spend some time at the computer before work. I have breakfast. I even go into work early, instead of dragging my ass in late. This morning, was an adventure. We were having breakfast, when Angel, our cat, went to her box. For non-cat owners, this is where the beasts do their business. The box. In common parlance, it's also known as the can -- toilet, restroom, powder room, lavatory, washroom, bathroom, water closet, potty, loo, latrine, privvie, John, and confessional. (I can't think of any other names -- but you get the point.) So the little stinker does her business, then bolts out of the room, races up the stairs, her four feet sounding like a derby contestant going around the bend on the way home. Not even a moment later, she comes galloping down the stairs, across the living room, behind the couch, up the sewing machine, launching her self off the small bookshelf, down the couch, across the living room, up the stairs, then down again. I joked with my daughter that it's never felt that good when I've visited the bathroom. As we're enjoying the morning's entertainment, I spied, with my little eyes, little Angels hanging on for dear life from our Angel's fur. She had poop still attached to her. That's why she was racing around like mad. She was trying to dislodge it. My daughter had to corner the little beast, drag her ass to the bathroom and clean her. It was gross. It's always gross having to do -- ahem -- shit like that. After the mess was cleaned up, my daughter commented that, "At least I know the worst of my day is over. And if I have to kiss any ass today, I know at least it's going to be clean." (Good one 'Nessa.) When I came back upstairs, I found an 'angel' in the hallway. It wasn't over. Angel had left me a present.