For the Love of Poop

I constantly am telling my cats, my husband and my dog that they are all lucky that they are so cute. And I mean it. If they weren't, I'm not sure I could deal with "the poop", both figuratively and literally, that they leave for me.

With the cats, the poop problem is mostly figurative. They're pretty good about only pooping in their litter box and I just clean that every day. But what irks me is that they manage to get into everything and destroy it. To them, all that they encounter is viewed as either a scratching post, a toy, or food. My late paternal grandmother's antique chair is torn to shreds - I guess the upholstery is perfect for filing their nails. I know that my trimming of their nails is certainly not their top choice for manicures. The bathroom garbage (which is under the sink behind a childproof (but apparantly not cat proof) door) is their toy of choice. They somehow manage to empty the entire garbage contents and then shred it and kick it around. A few years back some silk flowers were Chino's idea of a gourmet feast (which for days, I was finding yellow petals in his poop). I knew that cats like real flowers and plants, but I had no idea that fake ones had the same appeal. Every day, it's like a game for me - to see if I can guess what the cats got into this time. But like I said, they are cute and loveable and when I look at them, and they climb on me and purr, well, I just can't stay mad.

Next is my husband. I love him to death. He is my soulmate, my best friend, my lover, my rock, and well, a man. His biggest problem is follow-through. He means well, but his male brain gets in the way, and things don't get completed. Our gate ripped off the hinges after a mean wind storm back in November. We went to the store, picked out the right size screws and he attempted to fix the gate. Well, our drill wasn't strong enough and the screws bent and didn't get all the way in. The husband was supposed to borrow a sturdier drill so he could fix it. However, six months later, our gate is still "bungee corded" to the fence. I also love it, when he makes "half the bed". Though I know I should be grateful on the days he remembers to do even that much. I feel bad that I have to "nag" him about things. But when I don't, they either don't get done, or get "half done". But he is very cute and the love of my life. So I just sigh, roll my eyes and move on.

Finally, we have Jango. He is the sweetest dog ever. He is extremely loveable and smart. With him, his poop is definitely literal. On our regular walk this morning, he suddenly assumes the dreaded "poop stance". So I stand and wait for him to get it all out. What has he left me? Extremely loose, hot and smelly poop. I pull out a plastic poop bag and attempt to grab it all up, while holding on to him, making sure he doesn't wander into the street. It was so disgusting and difficult to pick up. I thought I was going to vomit. I somehow managed to get it all and tied up the bag. We contined on our way. When we arrived home, I tossed the bag into the garbage, and that's when I noticed it. I had poop all over my hand! I quickly went into the house, both annoyed and angry. I scrubbed my hands for several minutes. As I was drying them, Jango came up to me and rubbed his head on my leg and looked at me with one beautiful blue and one beautiful brown eye and my heart melted. He's lucky he's so cute.

Life *is* a zoo, but I wouldn't change it for anything. I love my cute cats, husband and dog - poop and all.