Upon moving in with me, he established this one cardinal rule to living with him: Clean his litter box as soon as he's done doing the deed, or else you pay for it. He lets me know once he's evacuated his bowels - meowing and following me, the pitch ever increasing, his insistence more ominous, until I give in and scoop and flush. Then he checks the toilet bowl, checks to make sure, yep, she did a good job.
So when he doesn't get his way - when his precious booda dome is less than immaculate! - he goes in, and plays in his crap and tracks it all over the bathroom, the toilet seat, the bathtub, the sink, and even the walls.
I did not eat breakfast today.
"What?!?! You hit snooze like 10 times!"
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