Pinch Hitting

I am the regular litter box cleaner in the Distribution of Household Chores here in the Snakelady and Hubby home. It’s all good.

When we lived in the two apartments, Beth would sit close by, usually in the pose of the sphinx, and watch me change the litter. I’d start fussing in her area and her bell would jingle and there she’d be, come to supervise. “Making sure I do it right?” I’d ask her. She’d disdainfully turn her head, and then come down to check out the final product when I was finished. Hubby pinch hit for me a few times during those years, no problems.

But things have changed since we moved into the New House two years ago. Miss B. seems very comfortable here, she loves her Domain of our fenced backyard where she gets outdoor time every day three seasons a year. And she’s never gone outside of her litter box, but there’s been a change in her when I change or clean the litter. We still share a guaranteed time together when I’m doing it, but now she’s sitting close by with her cute little face askew with anxiety. Askew. I talk her through the operation.

“Come down to make sure I don’t f*** it up, honey? It’s OK sweetie, you don’t need to cry.” I maintain a steady stream of Mumma-cooing. She looks up at me with suspicious eyes.

Twice since we moved in, hubby has changed the litter. The first time I was on a trip for work and he reported that Bethesda got violent, hissing and clawing at him, snarling, growling. Neither of us has ever seen her like that. She’s never actually attacked anyone or anything. This was long before Candy Cane joined our household.

The second time he changed the litter was yesterday. My back is out and so hubby went down to do it, but he asked me to join him to stave off Miss B’s vengeance. She followed us and stared anxiously and suspciously, but not making any moves toward us. Then.

Then. Hubby blew it. He was refilling one of the boxes and spilled several cups of litter on the floor.

“Mee-oww!” she interjected, trotting over to where we were and stomping over the spilled litter. “Me-ow, me-ow, me-ow, boo! boo!” Hubby put the litter in the box and we cleaned up, Miss B. the whole time mewling and complaining. When we stepped back she went to check out both boxes carefully. She looked up at me, “He sucks as a pinch hitter, coach.” she said, “Get better by next Thursday.”

Below: Miss B. in her Domain checking out the Wee Garden: