Masterfeces Theater Presents
May 10, 2012
Last night, while we were all enjoying a delicious dinner of grilled chicken chicken and ratatouille (well, except for Noah, who threatened to punch our house apart [WITH HIS FISTS!!!] if we ever made him eat such things again), I noticed a single, compact little turd had suddenly appeared on the floor next to the table.
Now, the problem with having a cat and a very small dog is that it is literally impossible to tell their poop apart. And yes, this is a problem. One that we are very familiar with. Hey kids! Who wants to play another round of Who Pooped On The Floor?
But since we were eating, I opted not to really ponder over the source From Whence The Turd Of Mystery Flowed, and instead quickly cleaned it up and flushed it away and then...
Another one. This time right in the middle of the kitchen, on the path I'd just walked through no more than 30 seconds earlier, when it was definitely poop free.
Someone was Stealth Pooping, you guys.
And it didn't end there. After dinner, I found one in the living room, then two more under the dining table, and then Jason found MORE in the kitchen less than 15 minutes after that. All told, by the end of the night, we'd cleaned up about 10 separate poop accidents, all seemingly deposited randomly, one at a goddamned time over the course of several hours.
Lady Ceiba Hummingbird Magillicutty of the Downton Cheezburgers
EVIDENCE FOR: It was raining yesterday, and HOO BOY, is my dog ever the dainty little princess about pooping in the rain, when her delicate haunches might dare brush against wet grass. Never mind that this is a creature who also enjoys rolling around in piles of squirrel shit and eating mulch, WET GRASS IS WHERE SHE DRAWS THE LINE. We've completely barricaded her out of her favorite stealthshit location (the basement playroom), so it's possible she'd been holding it in all day and then driven to desperate, more high-profile pooping.
EVIDENCE AGAINST: Ceiba rarely moves from position during dinner. She is a terrible begger, always crouched next to my chair, letting out the occasional growl of "GIMME SOME CHICKEN, WHORE" or busting out with her patented Waffle Jump. Also, she was unceremoniously sent out in the backyard after the first two turds were discovered, just in case it was her and was still a work in progress. However, the timeframe between Ceiba's return inside and the second wave of poop is unclear, since Stealth Pooper Was Stealthy. However however, I am pretty sure three, maybe four...um, DEPOSITS, max, has been her longstanding personal best.
His Distinguished Lordship Maximillian Thunderdome, Esq.
EVIDENCE FOR: As mentioned previously, Max has been having some age-related digestive problems. He gets constipated and panics and basically goes wherever. We switched his diet up to combat the constipation but then that led to vomiting because Mister Princely Pweshus Fwuffypaws' Wittle Tummy Tums Is Sensitive. We're still working on it, but finding random rock-hard turds is not a completely foreign experience.
Mostly though, I just think he's all, "I'm OLD, motherfucker. I've paid my litter box dues. From now on I'm shitting wherever I damn well please. Life is short. Get off my lawn. Etc."
EVIDENCE AGAINST: He was not spotted downstairs at all. He stayed up on our bed all night, as far as I can tell. That's a level of stealth never before witnessed with this cat, who usually likes to announce his tummy disturbances with a lot of meowing, horking, sturm und drang, etc. The last time he was constipated he basically marched into my office mid-squat and yowling, then looked me straight in the eye and shot rainbows out of his ass, Nyan Cat style.
So who pooped on the floor? The world may never know. The kibble-studded puke I stepped in while getting out of bed this morning is likewise mysterious, making this whole thing one big riddle cloaked in a puzzle topped with an enigma and then wrapped in a wad of paper towels.