Mark Baked More Cookies Last Night

My mom says I write too many stories involving poop. You know what they say, "write what you know."

I walked into the kitchen this morning and almost gagged. One of the cats had just dropped a load in the litter box and didn't bury it. These crazy cats do something I call air scratching. They go into the litter box, poop, and then start making like they are going to bury it, but they just wave their paws around in the air and then step out. It's like they are too cute and sweet to actually touch that nasty stuff. I quickly reached in there and buried it for them, and then went around opening windows to air the place out before Mark got wise. I didn't need to hear him gagging and puking so early in the day. The problem was that even after thirty minutes the smell was still lingering. 'Did one of those girls poop in a closet, or under that Christmas tree?', I wondered. Around and around I went, through the house smelling and searching. I finally found it. Not cat, but dog poop, caked on my dog walking shoes that I had shoved under the bed after taking Chandler out.

I live such a sweet life. One day I'm enjoying the aroma of Mark baking cookies, and the next day it all goes to shit. I don't care, the cookies still taste great!