A Craptastic Blog Post

Today’s post is really crappy.

Well, what I mean is, it’s all about poop.

Look, I never claimed to be a Pulitzer writer. Enjoy the poop show.

A Poonicorn Sighting

So for those of you who have been reading my blog a while, you may recall my post about the Tulsa State Fair and the poop hat that The Husband Dude bought for me because he loves me and wants me to be happy. You can read that post here.

A Facebook friend of mine recently posted a picture of a little gem she found at Target. I just had to have one and it arrived this last week in all its glory.

Behold….THE POONICORN!

Yes, that’s right. It’s a poo with a unicorn horn. I had to get the blue one, of course.

The Husband Dude: What’s that?

Me: A poonicorn.

THD: A poopicorn?

Me: A poonicorn.

THD: What’s it for?

Me: It makes me happy.

THD: Are you putting it on the bed next to the cat that is flipping everyone off?

Me:

I mean, where else would I put it?

Peddler Poop

Many of you have been keeping up with my saga of the porch cats, raccoon, possum and spider.

Well, apparently it isn’t enough that the porch cats have a food bowl, a water bowl, and a nifty little house with a self-warming bed in it. Apparently, there’s something missing from this little domestic situation. Can you guess what it is?

That’s right. Bathroom facilities.

I had never thought much about where outdoor cats go to do their “bin-ness” because I take for granted that my indoor cats have always had a cat box to use.

Well, apparently, outdoor cats also like something that resembles a small tract of dirt they can come back to and use as the “facilities”. On my porch, that would be the two flower planters that usually don’t have flowers in them because I’m terrible with anything that’s alive but can’t bark or meow or yell at me to feed and water it.

Let’s face it, a good set of lungs is the only reason Shane made it to an age where he could feed himself.

So when the cats claimed my porch as their home base, they claimed the two flower planters as their toilets. Yes, that’s right. They officially have a one bedroom studio with TWO bathrooms! Fancy!

I didn’t really notice at first, until one day in the steaming heat of summer I happened to be walking out to the car. The two flower pot toilets sit on either side of the edge of the porch and you have to pass them if you are going to step on or off of our porch from the front door. The ugly stank of “cat pook” as Shane used to call it when he was little, wafted over me and I looked around to see where it was coming from.

That’s when I saw the dookies in both flower pots.

Ugh.

I cleaned them out, but it didn’t take long for them to fill up again.

So apparently, now the cats have a sweet one bedroom studio with two bathrooms and their own maid service.

Then I got a brilliant idea.

Me: I think I’m going to quit cleaning the poop out of the flower pots.

The Husband Dude: But they really stink. Especially when it’s hot.

Me: That’s the point. You know how they say you should plant marigolds around your house to keep away mosquitos and other pests because they don’t like the smell? Those flower pot poops could potentially keep people from coming up on the porch and ringing the bell. It’s like People Repellant. It’s literally a shitty warning for people to stay away from our front door. It’s Peddler Poop!

THD:

Now, I don’t know about all of y’all, but when we aren’t expecting someone and the doorbell rings, we go into total stealth mode. We mute the T.V., we start crawling around on the floor and hiding behind furniture. One of us will ninja-roll up to the front door and peek out the peep hole to see who it is. It’s always somebody trying to sell something.

Except for the time it was the next door neighbor actually warning us that her son could be stealing our Wifi. She turns theirs off at a certain time to limit the screen time in their house, but the kid got wise and started using somebody else’s. She had a clipboard in her hand and was canvasing the neighborhood.

Now THAT’S Die Hard Parenting.

Crappy Conversations With Cats

The Husband Dude: Mr. Luna crapped on the floor again. Right in the middle of the bedroom.

Me: I wonder why he’s doing that now?

THD: I don’t know, but that’s not the worst part. I got up to go to the bathroom and it was dark and I stepped in the turd. Barefooted.

Me:

THD: I was pissed. He knows I’m mad at him.

(Later, I hear THD in the kitchen making a snack. This is usually when all the fur kids come hang out because they know he’s a softy and will give them a little treat. I can tell Mr. Luna has gone in there because of the following monologue.)

THD: No. Don’t try rubbing against my leg. You know what you did.

Me:

THD: That’s not going to work. You’re old enough to know better.

Me:

THD: NO! You shit on the floor! You can’t do that! What if WE shit on the floor? Huh? Three perfectly good toilets in this house, but we could shit on the floor. What would you think about that?

Me:

Long story short, the cat got a treat and now I’m terrified The Husband Dude is going to leave a deuce in the floor “as an example”.

I’m changing my Wifi password to “Craptacular”. Somebody tell the kid next door.

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring.