Thursday, February 19, 2009

To Wilbur, Concerning His Feculent Adventure

Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur.* You can't say I didn't try to warn you.

You regard every closed door and every closed drawer as a challenge to your feline elan, so when you can, you pry them open and enter -- for all the good it does you.

Yesterday, as is the case roughly once a week, you considered the many drawers in the bureau as such a challenge, and you managed to pry one of them open. And then, as is your wont, you climbed inside, and as is that drawer's wont, it closed on you, locking you inside.

It's not clear when this occurred, and therefore impossible for me to say how long you spent in the underwear drawer, but obviously it was longer than the workings of your digestive system were able to allow, because when we returned home to find you in the drawer, we found a companion -- a big, wet, brown, foul-smelling mound of a companion. And those were close quarters.

I know something of the domestic cat's fastidious nature, so I can only guess at the quality of the time you spent in that small, enclosed, cramped space with a big pile of your own shit. Good times!

I tried to warn you. I spoke to you -- and I know you've overheard me imparting substantially the same precept to Columbus -- of the 'natural consequences' of poor choices. Yesterday was a demonstration of the principle.

I hope you've learned.


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* Wilbur is the larger of the lazy cats shown here. The black and white beasty is Columbus.

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