Not only did I have to stop Drew from pooping in the kitty litter, shortly after we got married, I had to get him to stop peeing on trees in the front yard. And this was long before we even had kids, let alone had a puppy. He claimed the pee was good for the trees and helped them grow faster. Our neighbors had the most beautiful, tall trees, and Drew always saw their black lab peeing on them, so he assumed their landscaping looked so nice because of the dog. I couldn't count how many times I'd look out one of our windows and saw Drew holding his penis with one hand and waving to passing cars with another as he “helped our trees grow.” It got to the point where I had to start keeping an eye on him at all times. When he had started crossing and uncrossing his legs and shifting in his seat, I knew he had to go to the bathroom. I’d have to grab his hand and take him upstairs and stand him in front of the toilet and say, “You pee here! You pee here right now! You are NOT going outside, do you understand me?” It had taken three months before he would head to the stairs instead of the front door to pee.
Now Drew is fast asleep next to me, and I’ve been tossing and turning for the last two hours, trying to get comfortable in a bed that not only has us in it but now includes Miss Lippy and our Beagle puppy, Rollo the Janitor, too. While the kitten hisses at the puppy and the puppy whines in fear, I lie here silently plotting how to kill Drew and if my friends will help me hide the body.
“Oh my gosh, stop whining,” Drew mutters sleepily. “Do you have to go out?”
I lean up on my elbows and try to see Drew in the darkness. I can just make out his form sitting up and feel the bed shift as he flings off the covers and stands up.
“She just went out,” I tell him softly, assuming he’s referring to Rollo needing to go to the bathroom. I had taken her outside about an hour before, and since she hasn’t crawled all over me and licked my face, I’m assuming that means she doesn’t need to go out again. But Drew is either half asleep or doesn’t care and mumbles something about how it’s his turn to take the dog out. I am not about to argue because if he can bring this thing home without talking to me about it first, he can damn well take it out to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
I put my head back down on the pillow and snuggle under the blankets, listening to Drew curse under his breath about how cold it is outside and how the dog better make it quick since we had a huge snow storm earlier in the day and there is currently about a foot and a half of snow on our back deck where we let Rollo out to do his business as he picks up the dog and heads out of the room.
Why do people say that about dogs going to the bathroom? Do his business. How is pooping and peeing like doing business? I do business every day and it involves computers and phone calls and meetings. That’s nothing at all like going to the bathroom. Every time someone says that, I picture a dog walking into the backyard with a doggy briefcase in its hand, wearing a suit and tie. It’s weird.
Another thing that’s weird? Animals wearing clothes. Did you know there’s a whole website dedicated to just cats wearing sweaters? Do they ”do their business” while wearing sweaters?
While I pounder these thoughts, I reach over in bed to scratch Miss Lippy’s head before I go to sleep. But it doesn’t feel like Miss Lippy’s head; it’s not as fluffy.
As I feel around the bed for the rest of Miss Lippy, wondering if maybe I’m nowhere near her head, I hear the back door open downstairs so Drew can let Rollo out. As soon as I hear the door slam shut, I hear a whine in the bed next to me and feel a warm, wet puppy tongue on my chin.
“Oh no! Oh SHIT!”
Drew just threw Miss Lippy out into the snow! Poor, little Miss Lippy who has never been outside a day in her life except for the day Drew brought her home!
I throw the covers off of me, scoop up Rollo, jump out of bed, and run as fast as I can down the stairs. When I get to the last step, I hear the screams and wails of agony.
Oh thank God! Drew must have realized what he did and now he feels bad. He’s so sweet for getting upset.
I race through the house and skid to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen.
Miss Lippy, sopping wet and covered in snow, is attached to the front of Drew’s chest. And when I say attached, I mean it. He hadn't worn a shirt to bed, so all four sets of claws are stuck deep into his skin as Drew screams and tries to pull her off of him.
“MOTHER SON OF FUCKER SHIT! GET THIS GOD DAMMED CAT OFF OF ME!” he shrieks as he tugs on the cat’s fur and the cat yowls and hisses up at him angrily.
“Oh my gosh! Drew, you threw Miss Lippy out instead of Rollo!” I tell him as I just stand there cuddling Rollo and watch Drew spin around in circles, slamming into the counter and chair as he wrestles with the cat.
“GEE? REALLY? I HAD NO IDEA, WHAT WITH THE WET, KILLER CAT STUCK TO MY SKIN!” he screams at me as the cat uses his distraction to her advantage by climbing further up his chest until she can sink her teeth into his chin.
Drew screeches at the top of his lungs while he continues to try and pry Miss Lippy off of him. She’s growling now and drooling out of the side of her mouth, so I’m guessing she’s not going anywhere for a while.
“I SAID I WAS SORRY, MISS LIPPY! COME THE FUCK ON, THAT HURTS! I SWEAR I DID NOT MEAN TO THROW YOU IN THE SNOW!”
Drew and Miss Lippy are carrying on so loudly right now, I’m sure they are going to wake the kids up any minute.
“Drew, keep it down! You’re going to wake up Billy and Veronica,” I whisper loudly over the crying and hissing.
“I HAVE A KILLER CAT WITH FANGS TRYING TO EAT MY FACE, JENNY! SHE’S TRYING TO EAT OFF MY FACE!”