Pissed Off

It’s all uphill from here…

I have a cat litter box at the cottage. Or actually, it’s worse than that. I have two cat litter boxes. I have two litter boxes because the best practice is one box per cat, presumably so each cat can have their own private commode. Except in my case, they choose to use one as their urinal and the other for other business. The litter boxes live in the laundry room, which I why I can never close the laundry room door and have to look at both the litter boxes and the plywood floor (linoleum to be installed sometime this century) and the metal shelf that holds random tools and toolboxes that are vestiges of the laundry room’s former incarnation as tool room, except it was always designated as the laundry room so maybe the stint as  tool room was not an official incarnation but more like a bout of temporary insanity. But I digress.

I have cat litter boxes at the cottage even though my cats roam freely outside. Lest you have visions of felines marauding through the bush like mini-bobcats, their free-range activities mostly consist of lounging on the furniture on the deck. They are creatures of creature comfort, which means they much prefer indoor plumbing to the great outdoors. In their defense, it’s mostly rocky Canadian Shield here so there’s not a lot of soil for them to soil. Or at least that’s their story. Plus, if they do need to pee in the middle of the night, they can visit the laundry room instead of waking me up. But that’s not exactly what happens. What happens in the middle of the night is they visit the laundry room facilities and then wake me up because they want to go outside to terrorize the creatures of the night, or they might get to that right after they have a nap on the deck chairs.

Speaking of pet bathroom needs, I went for a walk on the road to the marina the other day, picking wildflowers and harvesting beer cans from the ditch for the ten-cent reward, and I saw a pink plastic dog-poo bag by the side of the road. On one hand, this shows the dog owner is a conscientious poop-scooper, a trait that, in general, should not be discouraged. On the other hand, this is not a downtown street or park. This is where the bush and the beaver pond and the granite cliff that’s been sheered off for the road butt right up against the sandy shoulder. In other words, there is little to no chance anyone is going to step in rogue doggie dodo that will soon become forest compost, meanwhile the plastic bag will languish on the side of the road until the sun implodes. With the amount of (well deserved) outrage swirling around about plastic straws and stir sticks and water bottles (and I see a fair few of the latter in my ditch scavenging), when is the spotlight going to land on the poo bag? Discuss.

And finally, on another bathroom related topic, I have recently noticed that the shampoo that occupies my single-use plastic bottle is both vegan and gluten-free. I think that’s also true of the water that comes out of my shower, my soap, and my toothpaste, so it is with great relief that I can say I can certify that my entire bathroom is vegan and gluten-free. But don’t tell the cats. They’ll start insisting on vegan and gluten-free litter, and I’d be willing to bet it’s coming to a pet store near me soon.   

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