Saturday night is the only time of the week when I can relax for more than half an hour at a time. After feeding the cats their snack about eight to eight-thirty, I have a bath, then sit down with a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie.
Renn is a big part of Saturday evenings. That’s his night with me. He loves bath-time. When I tell him it’s bath-time, he becomes very excited and sits with me while the water plunges into the tub. After it is full, he leaves to see to matters important to himself.
Last Saturday, I stepped into the tub and lie back. It wasn’t long until I smelled something unpleasant, and strong. It was like a gas line had ruptured just outside the bathroom door. I knew what it was, but it was intense, almost overwhelming.
It was so bad, I actually yelled out, “Is someone going to bury that?!”
Alas, no one heeded. My options were limited. I could submerged my head - and nose - until the stench faded, which, being a poor imitation of Buster Crabbe, I did not believe would succeed, or abbreviate my bath and deal with the problem myself. I reluctantly chose the latter.
I looked in the store-room, where the litter-boxes are kept and found the contents undisturbed from when I had scooped everything prior to my bath. I was puzzled, and a little alarmed; I hoped someone had not done his business outside a box. Then I recalled the spare box I had set up in the library. Sure enough, there were Renn’s results. His are often big and smelly. Rarely as bad as this, but then, I am frequently absent when he feels the need to relieve himself. I quickly dealt with the offence.
Unnecessary though it may be to write, my big boy was untroubled by his actions, and settled down next to me to watch - or, in his case, sleep - through the movie. Though not a grade ‘A’ film this time, it at least wasn’t the stinker Renn was that night.