Take Your Protein Pills and Put Your Helmet On

December 11, 2009

I feel very fortunate that, as a pregnant woman, I get a free pass on anything having to do with the cats’ litter box. I don’t know what the hell goes on in there.

When Tasha’s in there, we hear a focused, rhythmic “swish-swish-swish” of litter. I don’t have the heart to tell her that softshoe is dead. But when Brodie’s in there, there’s clawing and pounding and thumping. The whole box jumps around on the floor. The only reasonable explanation is that she’s beating herself senseless like Ed Norton in Fight Club.

Even better, if you happen to wander by while Brodie’s in there, you will sometimes catch a glimpse of her intent little face (she does settle down eventually) framed in the grey-tinted cat box door. She looks like a determined astronaut focused on maintaining the correct re-entry angle and velocity. Eric has taken to calling her Major Tom.

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