Feces. Doo Doo. Defecation.
Scene of the crime-
The kitchen rug (yikes), the kitchen floor surrounding the kitchen rug (eww), and the bottom kitchen cabinet (WHY, GOD, WHY).
The time of the committed crime-
Between 3:00 am and 5:00 am, Friday morning.
The suspects-
1. Skinny cat, black and white, fifteen pounds. Sleek, elegant, shiny. Has his own beauty regimen. Poses daintily for the camera. Has a crush on his school friend, Nicholas. Is generally perfect in every way.
2. Fat cat, black and white, twenty-three pounds. Dandruff, intense shedding, pathological eater, is best friends with a one Mr. Hanky.
Has a history of doo doo issues. Sleeps often. Loves strangers. Ignores family.
The story-
I take Winnie to the potty at around 5:00 am on Friday morning. I notice lumps of...stuff. It's too dark to see, but the dog is intrigued. It smells oddly like dead things. Nah, I'm still dreaming.
I drag the dog outside to do her business, and we go back to bed. At 7:00 am, Ian and I wake up. I sniff the kitchen air. I cringe. I spot the crime.
The verdict-
Screw criminal justice and Miranda Rights and fair trials.
Harvard Nathaniel, the jury finds you guilty of First Degree Bull Shit, and the judge sentences you to a year of public shaming.
____________________________________________________
The Crime-
Wee wee. Wet spot.
Scene of the crime-
The living room rug I bought with my Christmas money, a rug that is shaggy and red and awesome.
Time of the committed crime-
Between 8:00 am and 10:00 am, Saturday morning.
The suspects-
1. The fat cat from yesterday who now has a history of being too lazy to walk ten feet to the liter box. The fat cat who has temporarily lost all regard for rules and regulations and not shitting on the floor.
2. Small dog, white, fluffy, eight pounds. Has to use the bathroom every four hours. Enjoys long walks and chicken-watching. Has attachment issues. Is hyper needy. Has a history of peeing on towels and rugs when immediate need to urinate goes unmet.
The story-
10:00 am on Saturday morning:
Ian: "It smells awful in here."
Laura: "I don't smell anything."
11:30 am on Saturday morning:
Laura: "What's wet over here? What is this?"
Ian: "I guess that's the source of the awful smell."
Laura: "I still can't smell it."
A few hours later:
Laura: "IT SMELLS LIKE A DYING TURD IN HERE. I THINK A ROTTEN CARCUS IS MASHED INTO THE RUG."
The verdict-
This time we spend a few hours deliberating but ultimately declare the dog guilty of First Degree Asinine Behavior.
We sentence the dog to a year of being watched extra closely and constant references to the time she shamed the family.
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