When it's my turn to scoop out the litter box, I like to imagine I'm a grizzled old prospector in the year 1849, panning for gold and hoping to strike it rich. I imagine the turds and urine clods are shiny nuggets that can be traded for moonshine and a night of fun at the local bordello.Despite what you'd think, this does little to increase my enjoyment.
11 comments:
Holy shit, this kind of bizarre randomness is gold. GOOOOOLD!
I hope you don't pick up the scooper and sniff/lick it like Yukon Cornelius.
I changed mine tonight, there was no gold. Well, there HAD been a golden shower at some point.. In the box, not on the cats. But I digress. Cleaning the litter sure is fun idn't it?!
Maybe if you dressed the part and did voices.....
Hmmm, I think Special K is on to something. We'll want photos of course
Do you have a prospectin' hat and a Gabby Hayes accent to go with that minin'?
Seriously, get a wrist-rocket and shoot the red-winged blackbird with one of these lumps.
I find the juxtaposition of the words "urine" and "clods" to be somehow delightful.
Isn't that a Boston tune, "It's all part, of my Kitty Litter fantasy..."
I've pretended to be an archeologist, but found it to be entirely unfulfilling. I'll try prospector next, when I'm not trying to dodge the task altogether.
I would train the cat to go over a running fan, just to see the metaphor in action.
i mail my litter pickups to James Dobson and Pat Robertson
This post has helped me tremendously - since I'm the only one that pans for gold in our house, I'm keeping what I find all to myself.
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