I think I've blogged a time or two about our (cursed, wretched, loathed, despised, good for nothing) family cat, Minerva, and how she loves nothing more than to leave us 'prizes' all over the place.
She likes to dig up the decorative bark right by the front door and use it as her personal litter box, despite the fact that she HAS a perfectly functional personal litter box in the garage... not to mention that the entire field next door to us, and the rest of the neighborhood as we know it is her personal port-a-potty.
She likes to leave us dead creatures as presents ALL.THE.TIME. I know you're thinking this is typical feline behavior, but she does it in such a way that I've come to believe she is intentionally assaulting me personally. Its like she strategically positions these treasures. I've stepped in them... barefoot... more times than I can count. And I will NEVER, EVER forget that time Anabelle had just learned to crawl and was putting everything under the sun in her chunky little mouth when she had the beautiful (mis)fortune of encountering one of Minerva's rotting delicacies under the picnic table in the back yard (gasp, gag, dry heave... moving right along).
She likes to lurk outside the front door and find juuuuuust the right moment where I am most vulnerable (I'm actually vulnerable a lot each day, I know, you're shocked)... when I have a kid with a potty emergency, or an arm load of groceries and the phone is ringing, or the kids are fighting and I am talking (yelling) over them and trying not to throw a mom tantrum in front of the happy neighbors... and she ZOOOOOOOMs underneath my feet and then... POOF! vanishes somewhere in the house until I am forced to give up searching for her and she can finally take her well deserved (HA!) 23 hour nap.
Sometimes she gets locked in the house when we leave by mistake. Once left inside, I suppose she may argue that a cats gotta do what she's gotta do, and hey. If we aren't home to let her out WHEN she wants out... things get ugly. Which brings us to her new favorite trick: LICKING herself clean inside the house... and then, leaving nasty gray surprises of slimy shed cat hair souffle in inconspicuous places for us to find at the end of another exhaustively endless day in paradise. Like inside Tyson's nice pair of dress shoes. Or on a pile of freshly washed blankets. Or in the middle of our daughter's room... which Anabelle, naturally, steps in immediately following her evening bath.
I bet you think this blog is going to be all about our cat.
She's SO not worth her own blog.
This is about my hilarious, wicked, brilliant, warped evil comedic genius of a son, who evidently watches and listens to his mother at ALL the moments I am ranting about the cruel injustices of pet ownership and devises himself a plan to join in the torment, inspired by carnal feline-evil (he really does love that beastly cat).
Im in my happy place, watering the garden at the end of a long hot summer day, letting the cool hose water wash over my tired feet like an old friend and just enjoying the soothing sounds of a summer evening, when all of sudden... what? What's this I see? Just yonder... on the SLIDE!?! Where my DAYCARE KIDS play, and put their little hands and faces all day long!?!?!:
I dont remember exactly WHAT I spouted off, but Im pretty sure its not family friendly enough to repeat on my sweet little blog. Naturally, I turned to my husband who ADORES when I come to him with animal related mishaps... and he chuckles and stops my rant cold.
He goes... "You like that?"
Um. I most certainly did not.
"Dawson made that for you."
...and sure enough, the little rat fessed up. Or something like that.
He spent the afternoon the day before meticulously concocting this scientific little mud mixture so it would perfectly resemble... cat crap.
Just for little old me.
I feel so loved.
And so grossed the frick out.
And, not gonna lie... slightly amused (and even proud?) that my son likes to laugh so much, and shares our (slightly warped) family humor (alright, maybe it just MY humor).
So there you have it. Sh*t happens. The best you can hope for is that it was left behind in love by someone you cherish as a twisted joke.
Speaking of cherishing, and all things warm, fuzzy, and twisted (pun intended)....
Even when they're in trouble, I just don't get how they can manage to be this stinking adorable all the time.