Animal behavioral psychology fail

I got the bright idea that maybe my two cats didn't need two litter boxes, considering that for the last 10 months they have only used one box while completely ignoring the other.  Only once that litter was changed (after one week) and the box no longer smelled like their territory would they change to the second box, and even then they'd used the second box exclusively until it was cleaned out, and... rinse and repeat.  Seemed logical that their preference for shared commode space needs not a second box, right? 

Two mornings after downsizing to one box I awoke to the usual meow-fest of breakfast expectations.  Sadie, in her supposed food-deprived inner-brat-unleashing mood, went sniffing at the trash can.  I pulled her away.  Three minutes later she hops into the trash.  I lift her up from under her armpits and find her peeing.  Yes, peeing.  And the fact that she is dangling from my hands above the trash can makes no difference in the outflow.  She even looked up at me with a mmrrrrp.

So I lowered her back down into the trash to finish her business.  And sighed.

Once she hopped out of the trash I swept her up and deposited her in front of the litter box.  It is of note that the location of this box was unchanged from prior.  Sadie gave it one eighth of a passing glance and skipped away.  A peek inside the box indicates that it had not been touched in the last couple days.  I grab Merus, and we went through the same routine of deposit, semi-glance, and depart.  *Sigh*  Okay, you win.

I grab the second box, fill 'er up, leave it in the middle room and place both cats directly in front of it.  Here you go, ya' little worms.  Ignore it at your leisure.  Mutter mutter mutter.  Sadie uses the opportunity to attack Merus from behind -- a regular occurrence separate from the litter box issue.  So Sadie got to cool off in the next room with the door shut.  Merus uses the newly restored litter box, rearranging the fill to her little heart's content.  A few meows from Sadie were audible through the door, then the sound of her pawing at the open bag of litter which is stored in there.  Aw, crap.  [Pun unintended.]

I'm a little fearful that Sadie needs/wants to go again.  I pull her out of the room and away from the extra litter, lickety split.  Merus is still finishing up her time in the sandbox.  So I place Sadie next to the old box, and again she ignores it.  Merus finally takes leave, and I throw Sadie in front of the new box.  It smells like cat piss, so Sadie's interested.  She heads on in and voids something -- I don't care what it is so long as it is deposited where it needs to go.  Sadie spends a good five minutes making her own rearrangements.  Sadie exits the box.  Merus returns again to the new box, goes inside and voids the opposite of whatever she left just a moment ago.  (The only reason I know this is their rearrangement/scratching patterns are audibly different when it comes to pee and poop.  Aren't I lucky gal to know such things?)  Merus exits.  Sadie enters AGAIN.  I'm thinking, You only weigh 6 or 7 pounds!  How could you hold so much??  Regardless, apparently she does.

The kittehs finally relax, and all seems restored to normal.  Another five minutes later and Merus starts sniffing at the trash can, probably wondering why it smells like Sadie's rear end.  And so a layer of balsamic vinegar is spread across the top of the trash to mask any remaining feline scent.  At least I buy the $3.99 vinegar instead of the $10.99 vinegar.  And at least Sadie was polite enough to go into a contained space for waste instead of, say, on a piece of clothing on the floor.  Yet I will never forget that image of Sadie dangling in space, looking up with a chirp while a solid stream flowed strong.

Kitteh mama fail.  Lesson learned.

Who, me?  Silly human.