It Ain't Life They're High On

Cats. I think their sole purpose is to mess with our heads.

Clean animals. Forever bathing and preening themselves. Prissy debutantes that never seem to get invited to the ball and have to settle for matting their fur into my pillowcase or barfing in the hall.

Our genius cats have always taken exception to the sand in their litter box. Oh sure, they still use it (well, most of the time -- when it wouldn't be more convenient to use, say, my jacket or The Wife's shoes). Somehow, these cats manage to go in -- paws wedged against the sides of the igloo shaped box -- do their business, and then get out, all without getting their precious feet in the sand.

And right there is a big problem. I had always thought that the desire to cover up waste was a trait ingrained. You know, nature stuff. I'm sure Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel mentioned it at some point.

But then they mock me. After every session, every cat will stand outside the box and dig at the plastic. For ever. Skritch scratch skritch. Skritch scratch skritch. Skritch scratch skritch. What are you doing? Do you have a goal in mind? Is it to make me cry?