Some days I feel like I’ve come home to a crime scene.
Yesterday, I arrived back at the apartment, to be greeted by the cats who greet me and ignored by those who ignore me. The first thing I saw after the beasts was a big piece of poop on the sitting room carpet. I sighed. The building’s manager had to come in for a minor repair at some hour, and I could imagine someone (Raleigh) being so scared as to leave a deposit. But the Peach seemed pleased to see me, so there were no permanent effects. Then I noticed that someone (Tucker) had thrown up on the kitchen floor. Aside from the stinky dump in the litter-box (Renn), someone had thrown half their contents (the litter, not the other, thank goodness) on to the floor. Someone (Tucker again) had also wet on the floor immediately in front of the store-room where the litter-boxes are; this has been a sporadic problem, so I leave a soaker-pad on the spot when I am absent. Fortunately, the urine hit that and not the carpet. And when I released Cammie from her sequestration in the bedroom, I observed that she (Cammie) had wet outside her litter-box, which she does every day that she is put in the bedroom. Then I found that another cat (Josie) had thrown up on the bathroom floor; she at least has learned to try to get to an uncarpeted spot to upchuck. When at last I had cleaned everything up and fed the felons, I thought that I could relax with a meal of my own. That’s when I noticed that someone (Renn once more) had wet in the bath-tub.
I told the animals that I was considering just leaving, locking the door behind me and moving to a new apartment with a whole new set of cats. They didn’t believe me.
Here are the usual suspects, with the only innocent one among the lot at the end…