Fatty McFatterson

Two days ago I reached what I hope will be the low point of the potty-training experience.

I had turned off my alarm in my sleep, so I woke up suddenly, threw on clothes and ran out the door. On my way out the door I noticed one of the cats had had an accident in the former litter box corner, but I was already late and taking the time to clean it up would result in me missing the next bus.

I flew out the door and had a disastrous day at work followed by a work happy hour where everyone left early, so another attorney and I chugged two beers and caught the bus home. Now the problem with chugging two beers and leaving is that by the time I got home I really needed to pee. And so I ran from the bus stop to my front door, bolted up the stairs and made it to my bathroom. Just to discover that though one of my cats had used the toilet-box, the other had pooed in front of the toilet in a fit of passive aggressive angst.

And so I took the longest pee of my life almost in tears looking at the disaster that had become my bathroom. It was time to end the experiment, this was too much.

At that moment Bear paraded back and forth past the door to the bathroom. Bear with his fat body and tiny head. Except his tiny head was stuck in a pink bag of cat treats that he had stolen from my cupboard. After a couple blind turns he stumbled into the door frame, dislodging the pink bag and causing the last few treats to hit the ground. He pounced on them eagerly, as though he hadn't eaten in days.

This is why his nickname is Fatty McFatterson. Or Sir Chubby von Weighsalot.

So I cleaned up their mess and decided to wait one more week, at least until next Friday when I leave for my company retreat.