We’ve been friends for more than 3 years now. I’ve been your faithful owner for more than that. We used to sleep next to each other, but now you like sleeping next to Mark because I don’t pay much attention to you since Miles arrived. I also understand that Mark emanates a lot of heat, so it’s like you’re sleeping next to a space heater – a win for cats.
You’ve been with me through my ups and my downs, me before Miles and me with Miles, me hungover and me desperate for sleep that I sleep on the floor in the closet – we’ve been through a lot… so I ask you one thing.
Please stop taking a dump when I’m in the bathroom. It doesn’t matter if it’s 8pm or 11:30pm, whenever I walk to the bathroom, ready to indulge in expensive face creams, exfoliants, hydrating face masks, mud masks, scrubs, face cleansers, or what have you, you’re right behind me galloping towards your space age-looking self-cleaning robot globe litter box ready to do your nightly business.
I don’t even have a chance to just sit in silence without the smell of someone else’s poop in my face for one second. Wafts of cat poop tip toe right up to the counter and jump down my nose and my throat and I hate you, Burger.
You prance out of your litter box throwing litter literally everywhere and walk past me with your head held high like you just received a Pulitzer Prize. Thanks, Burger.
I now find myself brushing my teeth and throwing whatever creams I have on my face before the litter box can get cleaning. I have precisely 10 minutes from you activating the sensor on your litter box to it revolving around throwing clumps of pee and poop and making the whole bathroom unbearable to prep my face, clean my face, moisturize, and brush my teeth.
It’s a race against time and a race against a dusty cloud of litter and cat excrement powdering a freshly washed face.
But I still love you, Burger, but please poop after I’m done with the bathroom. It’s like roommate rule #1.