Litter Wars

4:30 am: Scritch scritch. Scritch scratch scritch scratch SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH...

Seamonkey, drowsily: Ungh. Wha? Whas that?

...scratch scritch scritch scratch (pause) SCRATCH SCRAWTCH SCRATCH SCRAWTCH...

Seamonkey: Mya! (our neurotic cat) Cut it out!! PFTHSSSSSSST!! Mya!

...SCRAWTCH SCRAWTCH (pause) SCROWTCH SCRAWTCH SCRITCH...

Seamonkey hauls herself out of bed and staggers to the litterbox in the hall, where Mya is scrabbling at the plastic mat under the litterbox.

Stupid animal, you can't bury your shit with the mat, okay? See that stuff that looks like dirt? (Demonstrates lifting a scoop of litter and placing it on top of poop) See? See? Works a lot better doesn't it?

Seamonkey stumbles back into bed, enveloped by peaceful silence. Her head sinks into the soft pillow...

SCRRRRRAAAAATTTTTTCH! Scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch...

Seamonkey wonders briefly whether T would be able to taste the difference between cat and chicken; then rolls out of bed again.

Okay Mya. Okay. You win! Guess what: time for brekkies!

Seamonkey stomps out to kitchen and deposits one- no, two scoops of kibble in Mya's dish; enough to distract the little bastard for at least fifteen minutes. And lo: it works like a charm.

I swear, when this critter bites the dust I'm gonna get a snake.