No More Empty Threats

For the past few months it seems like I've been saying, One more time and the cats are out! Well, the last chance (two chances, actually) was used up this morning. After walking into Olive's bedroom and sniffing out the telltale sign of a cat who's veered astray of its litter box, I climbed up into Zoe's loft bed to discover that - Ché, most likely - had wet the bed. No way was I going to stand for that (What can I say? I'm just that good of a stepmother). Moments later, I was delighted to hear scratching sounds in the bathroom - what I naively assumed were made by a cat prepping the litter, or covering up the evidence. It is important to add here that yesterday we began Phase 2 of toilet training the beasts. For the past three weeks or so we'd been getting the cats accustomed to hopping on top of the toilet where their little box was set. Then Rob ordered a CitiKitty cat toilet training kit which arrived by post yesterday. Boy, were we excited. Our days of litter crunching under feet in the bathroom and Wendell tracking horrid footprints all over the bathtub were numbered! A little baggie of catnip was included in the kit for added enticement, in case the act of perching on the bare toilet seat wasn't encouraging enough. Well, the cats are not falling for our plan. Those scratching sounds were not the sweet music of a cat making good choices; Wendell made a sizable puddle on the floor where the broom stood, which seeped into the closet soaking the area under the bag of Swheat Scoop litter I'd just purchased last night for the occasion. Big mess. I've got to give him credit, though; unlike Ché, the kid knows to at least find a more appropriate place to relieve himself than Zoe's bed or Rob's work pants.

So after this unfortunate double-header of episodes, I posted a cats-for-adoption ad on the listserve while the cats spend the day out of doors. I can't be having another accident to clean up or it's going to drive me to drink.