Shit happens

If anyone wants one, there’s a kitty carrier lined with cat shit on my balcony, free just for you.

I’d been planning to take the Fatass with me since before Mom died, but our moving plans derailed that temporarily. Didn’t want three animals freaking out about the new place at once.

So this weekend, I finally brought the Fatass home.

It took a little coaxing with the end of a rolling pin to get her out from under my father’s bed. Ten minutes later, we were on the road. That was when we noticed the smell. A lot of Queens smells like shit. I mean, the Mets play there, so I assumed the smell was coming from somewhere nearby. But the smell followed us to Brooklyn, then to the front door of our apartment. No doubt the Fatass had been eating burritos for lunch. Even opening all four windows didn’t help.

We stopped for a beer before bringing the cat upstairs, not looking forward to braving the odor. The beer was good. The ambiance was OK. The right side of the bar was exposed brick and fancy booze. The left side looked like somebody’s angry girlfriend tore all the pictures off the wall and left the stupid poster of the bull with the ring in its nose.

Thirty minutes later, we were hauling the cat and her stench into the elevator, and I battled between laughing so hard I couldn’t stop crying and suppressing my gag reflex. Her shit is foul, y’all.

When we finally got her onto the balcony, the problem was clear: The Fatass had shit smeared all over her back paws, and the inside of the carrier looked like another cat had exploded out of her ass.

Once we cleaned her off, she scurried under the bed, and then we remembered: We hadn’t introduced her to the kitty litter box yet. Devon broke out the mop, and the Fatass’ internal monologue went something like this: “Oh, hell! Blue foamy thing! Back! Back! Damnit, my claw’s stuck in the blue foamy thing! Sons of bitches! Run for the closet!”

The only one who seemed happy with the situation from beginning to end was Fitz. Her internal monologue was more like: “Something’s going on! It’s going on over there! What’s going on? Can I see? Oh boy, it’s still going on! Yay!”

I’m pretty sure the Fatass is gonna kill us in our sleep.