If we do, indeed, “come back,” I would like to come back as this cat.
This cat, with whom I am allowed to live (notice, I did not say “live with,” as this would imply a kind of equal footing situation) does nothing but bask around for most of the day.
Now, it’s true…in the wee hours of the night, there’s a small chance that she goes online and does chat roulette. But I have no evidence of this.
The only evidence I have can be found in the litterbox, and let me just say –
Okay. No need to get graphic.
But why, after you’ve JUST EMPTIED the damn thing, will your cat(s) immediately jump in, scritch around, and make a deposit?
This cat (Aurora is her name) actually has a kind of problem. Borderline Intervention kind of problem. She hops soundlessly into the litterbox, mucks about, voids, and then begins what I call The Ritual.
Let me interject here that I have purchased pretty much every litterbox design known to man. Front-loaders, side-loaders, rock-and-dumpers, knacky, furniture-like wooden housings, litterbox-with-jacuzzi. I’ve also tried every smell-deterrant: sprinkly powders, carbon filters, litter made from corn, newspaper, wheat, silicone, angel wings.
Bottom line: Cats make the STINK.
Back to The Ritual…see, we currently have a TOP-loader litterbox. It’s basically a giant, deep-sided Tupperware with a lid with a cat-sized hole in it. Works pretty well, actually. Relatively.
Anyhoo, after Aurora stealths in and does the stink, she begins clawing the side of the box. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
She’d do it forever, if I let her.
But I don’t. I can almost FEEL her sinking into this half-conscious state as her paw reaches for the side…her eyelids droop…her mouth opens slightly…and SCRAPE. SCRAPE. SCRAPE.
Instead, I holler her name until she stops. Sometimes, it takes a few hollers. She’s deep in the abyss, you see.
When she hops out of the litterbox, she’s almost jaunty from her fix. It’s downright maddening. She trots into the living room, hops onto the windowsill, and commences the licking.
Cats are so weird.