Elvis Takes a Dump

April 25, 2014

The image you see below displays an area of my condemnable home I refer as the “cat area” (because “pussy parlor” seems ill-suited for a gay’s house).   This romper room for the five heathens is where they can crap in, puke on, and/or destroy whatever their black, soulless hearts desire without the same consequence if said crapping, puking,  and/or destroying commenced in any other room.

No. I don't have the heart to throw out the tattered, green cat tree.

No. I don’t have the heart to throw out the tattered, green cat tree.

 

This is the only area of the house that I do not fret over being “magazine cover ready.”  Why?  Because scrubbing hair from two cat trees and one cat tower will make you not believe in a God (no God is so cruel as to create a substance this difficult to remove from a fabric surface).  Because no vacuum is strong enough to suck in all of the stray litter tracked on the floor.  Because scraping dry bile from the walls and floors will make you wonder who in the Hell bought a vomit sprinkler, and why in the Hell they turned it on inside?

Attached to bulimic or possessed* for hours of family...uh, fun.  *bulimic and possessed sold separately.

Attached to bulimic or possessed* for hours of family…uh, fun. *bulimic and possessed sold separately.

 

However, during a recent spell of obsessive cleaning, I tackled this forsaken territory, determined to eradicate the cat residue (i.e. hair, vomit, litter) that accumulated over the last month.  After two and a half hours of meticulous scrubbing, I was satisfied with the level of cleanliness.  Not “magazine cover ready,” mind you, but ready enough to where I wouldn’t be embarrassed if someone were to happen to break in (steal what you want; just don’t judge or make fun of my house).

All your stuff now belongs to...damn, what's that smell?

All your stuff now belongs to…damn, what’s that smell?

 

Unfortunately, Elvis didn’t anticipate my thoroughness.  You may remember Elvis from the ass-to-mouth incident.  He’s Partner’s favorite.  Anyway, as I’m standing at the back door recently (just to the right of the first picture), I see Elvis leap at me from the top of the television cabinet like that thing from The Conjuring before dropping like a brick to the litter box below.  Partner was standing nearby so I asked what the Hell just happened.

"BOO!" *slip* "Oh, fuck!"

“BOO!” *slip* “Oh, fuck!”

 

As Partner tell me, it seems that Elvis leapt upon the TV cabinet, scuttered about for traction on the newly waxed surface, slid and fell off the other side, landing in the litter box.  (Image below)

Elvis' journey in red.

Elvis’ journey in red.

 

Partner chased after the embarrassed cat to console it.  He never answered when I asked if it landed on its feet.  I kinda hope it didn’t land in a turd.