Sheba Lost Her Sh*t

This Sunday, my sassy female cat lost her shit.

Well, technically, she misplaced it.

Sheba delicately stepped into the new litter box. She backed up to the side, squatted and carefully expelled four or five neat turds right outside the box. She exited on the other side and turned around to scrape.

The look on her face was priceless. Where did her shit go? She was amazed. She slowly sniffed her way around the edge of the box until she found it. She pulled up along side, delicately gave three swipes at the tile floor and left without a backwards glance.

This is a slightly smaller litter box, but I don’t think that matters. I used to find piles outside the other one all the time, even when the litter was pristine. I guess she is just spacially challenged.

Max’s Death

I’m on the phone with my father right now.  I called to make sure my mother arranged with the cabin plumber to have everything ready for my trip.

They put Max, our last dog, down yesterday.

When I lived at home, I thought I was cursed.  Animals used to come to me to die.  Cats which hadn’t done more than hiss at me in years would be curled up outside my door when they were ready to leave this world.

Max was the only animal we meant to get.  He replaced a 21-year-old toy poodle we rescued in a blizzard.  He came from the pound and was half German Shepard, half Huskie.

Since my brother and I left, he was the baby.  He got breakfast of a toasted hamburger bun on a human plate.  He got orders of fries from the best BBQ joint and was allowed to growl if you didn’t share your meal.  He slept in their bed.

When my parents bought the farm as their weekend experiment, Max was in heaven.  Never allowed to travel leashless in the city, he was perfectly behaved in trotting among the lavender bushes and playing with the neighbor dogs.

Being outside so much, playing so much, made all three of them younger.

But time did catch him up with him.  And Dad found him, in my old bedroom (now an art studio), unable to get up and covered in his own waste.  His hind legs had been going for a while.  His front legs seemed imbolized.  Our family vet was called and he brought the drugs over to the house after hours to end his suffering.

I miss you Max.  I wish I had been there to let you in the room.