Descent into Rotten Cat Hell

Sometimes a Rotten Cat just goes too far.

I have been patient with the monster who clawed my carpet. Wanted hard wood floors anyway…now we have an excuse to actually pursue the conversation.

I have put up with their Rotten Cat mewing and rubbing. After all, a good Rotten Cat foot rub followed by a sleeping Rotten Cat slipper is rather nice on a cold evening.

But when a Rotten Cat befouls my floor – on purpose – that is the absolute end.

As I sat at my computer Thursday night, I heard a strange noise from above me. The two Rotten Cats situated near me (they are always near me) looked up at the dining room ceiling at the same moment I did and with the same quizzical expression on their furry little faces as I had on mine.

What the –???

The sound continued for several minutes and then it hit me. One of them was digging and clawing at the carpet. Again! Unfortunately for Cat Three, we know he is the carpet clawer and I flew up the stairs like a bat out of Rotten Cat Hell to stop him from making any more changes to the decor.

But wait — Cat Three was one of the two Rotten Cats looking at the ceiling with me just a moment ago. So who was clawing the carpet?

I flew into our bedroom just in time to see Cat One hunched up all weird and staring into the corner. For a moment, I thought he was seeing a ghost. But just as quickly as I dismissed that thought, a perfectly formed little ball of Rotten Cat poop came out of his furry little butt and landed ON MY BEDROOM CARPET.

I yelled.

“What the hell are you DO-ing????”

Because apparently the answer to that question was not entirely obvious.

He made some sort of unpleasant half-chirp/half-belching sound and ran down the stairs with me right on his tail and the other two right behind me. I could hear them laughing and sniggering “Cat One is gonna get it…Mom’s really mad now!”

Honestly, even Looney Tunes can’t come up with stuff this good.

Cat One beat me to the living room, but because he is the laziest cat on the planet he did precisely what he always does after expending five seconds of energy. He collapsed on the floor to take a nap. And that is where I found him, already poised to go to sleep.

No, he wasn’t dead or hurt or traumatized – I did not touch one hair on his furry little head or any other part of him. I did get in his face and called him a Rotten Cat, though. And then I called Fab Hub in the middle of a rehearsal an hour away to let him know what the Rotten Cat had done.

Fab Hub suggested that I calm down and stop spewing fire from my nostrils long enough to realize that there was nothing he could do at that exact moment from his current location and no, a floor installation team would not be coming out tonight to lay hardwood floors.

Stupid floor-pooping cat.

After I managed to regain my human form, I sat down on the floor next to Rotten Cat One. I gave him a belly rub, fussed over him, and asked him if he was sick. (Oh, yeah, did I mention that he’s puked on the floor three times in two days as well? Yeah.) I decided that this must be hell or a terrible nightmare. There’s no other explanation for a world where I have a conversation with a cat, inquire as to his health, and actually care about the answer.