Yesterday I got home from work to Nathan exasperated at the table. "I need your help. Sadie stepping in poop earlier and I couldn't get it all off." Miss Sadie was sitting prim and proper on the kitchen table atop the mail, calmly looking up from her cone at my entrance.
"I got what I could and left the cone off in hopes she'd get the rest. She cleaned everything else but that foot."
We'd removed the litter box lids so that Bad Cat could negotiate them with her plastic collar. Apparently she still had trouble turning around. Nathan held her while I wedged a sudsy washcloth between her toes.
Last night I built a new fire and saw a credit card statement atop the burn pile unopened. I asked if he meant to keep it. "No, it's got poop on it. Sadie sat on it before you got home." The slightest tinge of tan on one corner of the envelope. He didn't want the contents either. He's thorough with disposal of poop cooties, it seems.
An hou ago I heard Sadie kicking around the litter for a good minute. Then Nathan. "Whatcha doin' in there, Sadie? Are ya... Oh, Sadie, don't do that! Sadie, stop that!"
When Nathan called her name she look up from inspecting her poop, but since the cone extends so far beyond her face she ended up hooking the poop on the edge. Upon lifting her head the poop rolled down the inside to her neck.
I walked over to check out the commotion, and Nathan walked out holding the cone with the tips of two fingers. "I guess we should wash it, huh?" The only evidence I saw were two little smudges on the collar's edge, but Nathan's face was priceless. Sadie came out and sat before us, again all prim and proper but more relaxed without the cone.
Just you wait until March, Nathan. Just you wait.
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