I don't like to admit this, but my husband owns (sigh)...fake dog poop. Yeah, I know you weren't expecting that, but he doesn't just own it. He uses it. Over Memorial Day Weekend it traveled with us to New York with a group from our church (sorry Kim). He likes to pull it out every once and a while for a few giggles. I refuse to touch it.
Recently this pile of plastic poo has been sitting idly on top of Matt's dresser. I don't know why he hasn't put it away. It keeps getting shuffled around until it's perched onto top of everything, right where anyone can see it. Great.
Early this morning my cats were completely spastic. I don't know what they got into, but they were chasing each other over and around me and Matt (we can't shut the bedroom door - long story, for another day). We heard them knocking things down in the living room. It was chaos. We went back to sleep.
My alarm went off at 8:00 am and I took my traditional stroll to the potty. The cats, of course, stood waiting outside the bedroom door, their tails high as they anticipated a big treat for their madness. I considered it...until I saw the rug. Matt's dog poop. The culprit? Bucket (that's the cat's name...I know, it's weird. Matt picked it...ask him).
Apparently Matt's discovered that his boy Bucket likes to carry the poop around in his mouth. Instead of hiding the toy, Matt left it out to see what would happen. We discovered this morning: the cats think it's a hockey puck.
As of 6:30 pm today that poop is still on the floor (I told you...I won't touch it). Matt thinks it's hysterical that the cats play with it. Bucket thinks its great to have such a big hockey puck. Midgie's just hoping I'll give her another treat. And I...kicked it behind the door so I don't have to look at it anymore.
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