So far, today sucks.
First it is Valentine's Day, which means I'm already a little on edge. I have never much liked Valentine's Day, it's one of those holidays which creates a lot of expectation with no justification. Flowers are nice, but not to fulfill some artificial obligation. I can only watch so many romantic comedies before I want to shake Meg Ryan until she stops being so neurotic. And god knows I don't need another white teddy bear holding a giant red heart that says "I Wuv You." (Side-note, why are Valentine's teddy bears always white? Aren't polar bears supposed to be pretty vicious?)
Second, I'm starting to feel a little ill and had trouble getting up this morning.
Third, Toby is the devil. Seriously, he's like a little grey Lucifer.
It is 8:30. I need to get to work. I'm standing in the bathroom applying eye liner, and Toby starts wailing. These gut-wrenching cat sobs, like he's being torn apart. At first I think that he just needs some alone time with the toilet box, so I leave him alone in the bathroom. He follows me, still meowing pitifully. So I pet him for a while. And he purrs and stops whining.
After a few minutes I think it's safe for me to continue getting ready. So I walk into the other room to iron my pants. Toby is not happy with me. From the kitchen I hear him starting to scratch at my bed. I run into the other room, just to catch him mid-poo. I shout at him and, without thinking, grab him by the scruff and run him into the bathroom.
Here's the thing about a pooing cat. Just because he's 4 feet in the air does not mean he stops pooing. After throwing tabby Satan into the bathroom, I look back to see a trail of little round cat poos from my bed to the bathroom.
I don't think Toby's "accident" had anything to do with the potty training, other than he doesn't like it. He's just an asshole. But the toilet training, combined with my jackass of a cat may just be too much for me to cope with.
(Don't judge my drawing too much, this was done during my lunch break.)
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