Turdy Tomfoolery

September 13, 2007 by
Filed under: Dung of the Day, Other Shit, Vomit 

One of my credentials for being a Dog Shit Queen has nothing whatsoever to do with dogs; I am the keeper of one of the most disgusting cats that ever walked this planet. After a period of relative inactivity last night “Stinky” (whose real name is Frances) lived up to her moniker with a vengeance.

My first attempt at going to bed was at 9:30. I was very tired. As I laid in bed waiting to doze off, my next door neighbors decided to fire up one of the worst-smelling spliffs I have ever whiffed. One of them even said:

This is the sorriest joint I have ever seen.

As the odor began to waft into my apartment I found myself agreeing with her. Whoever sold this woman that shit must have laughed his (or her) ass off all the way to the bank. “I can’t sleep smelling that shit.” I groused while getting out of bed. I played on the computer for an hour and tried to go back to bed again.

I laid there. I got up and had a glass milk. I resumed laying there. No sleep in Brooklyn.

shugga, shooooogah, shoogah— blech!

Frances deposited a pile of gack on my side of the bed.

G-spot Vomit

Pleased by the artful placement of this pile of puke, “Stinky” elected to do an encore.

BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLECH!

“God, will she ever stop?” I thought to myself as the perfume of rancid cat food ravaged my nostrils. She then hopped onto the bed in the hopes of getting a little post-vomitous cuddling. It was midnight. I had yet to fall asleep. This is when a new odor manifested for my olfactory pleasure.

UGH!!!! IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT IN HERE!

I hopped out of bed and grabbed a paper towel; I know the drill. “Are you going to help me with this Sam?” I shouted.

I’m trying to sleep.

He whined. This was not the answer I was looking for, so I turned on the bedroom light. “You could help me with this, you know.” I said.

I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!

He shouted while squirming like a 200+ pound night crawler.

I’M TRYING TO SLEEP TOO. BUT IT’S KIND OF HARD TO DO WHEN THE BEDROOM SMELLS LIKE SHIT!

I replied. My husband was born in the year of the pig. This is the only explanation I can come up with as to why he can sleep in a room waller that smells like crap.

It was clear I was on my own so I held Frances down with one hand and proceeded to remove the shit biscuit that was caked to her ass with the other. This is not an easy task when you have 13 pounds of feline resistance fighting you every step of the way. Hubby slept through the entire procedure.

Having accomplished my mission I got an idea. Tip-toeing quietly I sauntered to his side of the bed, leaned over and held this morsel two inches away from his nose. His nose twitched in displeasure, then his eyes opened.

OH MY GOD!!!

He bellowed.

“I was trying to SLEEP!” he whined. Was, indeed! Tee-hee!

“Tough shit.” I said and proceeded to the kitchen so I could ditch the shit and laugh my ass off.

My ears might have been playing tricks on me, but I swear I heard him mumble the word “bitch” before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Miss Heather

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