I Once Pooped in a Cat Litter-Box.

True story.  I considered ending my blog here because, well, I just gave away the ending.  But being me, I think that I will give you an overly detailed account of what happened that day and how I found myself in the back of my Jeep, in the middle of the day, having diarrhea in a cat litter box.  With a cat watching.




The day started out like any other overly hot summer day where I had gotten drunk on cheap beer the night before.  I was 22, for chrissakes.  I had stayed over at my friend Rachel's house and had brought my new kitten, Akira.  I didn't really bring her because I WANTED to, it was more like, if I didn't bring her along I would get a phone call from my mother at 2 in the morning saying "COME HOME.  YOUR CAT WON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP.  SHE HAS BEEN YOWLING FOR 2 HOURS."  Nothing is worse than being half drunk and seeing your phone ring and knowing, just knowing without looking at it that it's your mom and that she is pissed because your cat is yowling because it is locked in your room because she wont let it out because she is afraid it is going to run around the house and destroy everything since it has all it's claws.  Your face automatically molds into one of angst, fear, and utter disappointment.  Now you have to drive home partially drunk and tend to your cat who probably wont shut up even when you are in the room with her.  So THEN you will be even LESS drunk, laying in bed with a yowling Siamese kitten, with a mother across the hall who is fuming out of the ears.

That is why I saved myself the trouble and brought little Akira with me in her carrier case, along with food and water for her and a litter-box in case she had to go potty.  Rachel and I stuck her in the spare room and she didn't even yowl.  Probably because she was fucking petrified of being in a new house with a possibly insane dog sniffing under the door at her, along with strange people coming in and out of the room to pick her up and making comments like "Aren't her ears a little big for her head?" and "Are you sure she isn't retarded?"  Things like that tend to set you on edge, if you're a human OR a cat.

So Rachel and I and a few other select buddies proceeded to drink a large amount of cheap beer and make fun of reality television.  I am a firm believer that watching reality television raises my self-esteem.  I mean I thought I was slightly insane?  These people are willing to compete with each other over a man they have never met.  He could be a closet rapist.  THEY could be closet rapists.  It's a recipe for disaster.  Disaster that coincidentally makes me feel like a much better human being for not participating in it.

So the next morning I wake up with a 'rumbly in my tumbly' as Pooh would say.  It was a 'I'm kinda hungry let's get hangover food' kind of rumbly, it was the 'get the hell out of my way or my butt might explode all over your house' kind of rumbly.  I rolled off the couch and hurried towards the bathroom, which was OCCUPIED.

Me: Hey Rach?  Are you going to be long?  I gotta go ppppoooottttyyy bbbaaaadddd.

Rach: I wouldn't use this one unless you are just going pee, man.  The toilet is shit and wont flush right.

Me: It's okay....I can hold it.

I LIED.  I HAD TO GO.  I HAD TO GO RIGHT NOW OR I WAS GOING TO POOP MY PANTS.  NO JOKE.  The urge in my stomach had moved down to my butt muscles, which were clenching with the effort of holding back what was to come.  I pondered my options.  I could go outside, Rachel's roommate had a dog, maybe they would just think the dog did it.  Then I was bombarded with the mental image of Rachel's roommate Kim waking up to have a nice cup of coffee outside on the back porch and seeing me, pants down, squatting next to the fence, emptying my lower intestine.  The embarrassment would have most certainly killed me, or sent me into a coma which I would not recover from until everyone was sure to have forgotten the 'Britt Shitting in the Backyard' incident.

I heard Akira yowling.  I would have to make a break for it.  I would have to just drive really really really fast and find the first place that offered a public restroom and deposit my load there.  That was IF I didn't poop my pants by that time.

Almost paralyzed with cramps, I hurried and gathered all of Akira's things and shoved her into her little carrier.  "ByeRachelIgottagobutIwillcallyalaterok?!?!"  I said it pretty much all in one breath, because there was no time to lose.  Evacuation of my intestines was eminent.  The end was very fucking nigh.

I jumped into my car and let Akira out of her case.  I usually let her roam around the car while I was driving because otherwise she made noises like a baby being poked with a branding iron while being circumcised.  That was a mistake, as I found out later.  I sat in the drivers seat and BAM.  I knew.  I knew that if I didn't find some place to poop NOW I was going to poop my pants.  That's when I remembered the litter box.

There was no time to wonder if it was a good idea.  It was the only idea I had.  I opened the back of my Jeep and placed the litter-box in the cargo-space.  I then closed the back of the Jeep, looked to make sure no cars were coming......

and pooped in the litter-box.

Instantly I was relieved.  It was like I had just given birth to a baby elephant, through my butt. In that moment, someone could have come up to the car and looked in the window and I wouldn't have cared.  All that mattered was that I was no longer in pain, and that I didn't poop my pants.

Little did I know I was headed for disaster.

I felt something by my foot.  I looked down to see Akira, eyes wide, staring at me.  I could have sworn that the look in her eyes was one of admiration.  I bet she was thinking, 'Wow, that's a big poop.'  She wasn't content with just looking though, being a cat, and a slightly retarded one at that, she had to check it out.

So she got into the litter-box.  She stepped in my poo.

My cat stepped in my poop, and then proceeded to run around the Jeep with poo all over her paws, leaving light brown remnants of my poo trailing behind her.

That's when the fact that I had just pooped in a litter-box hit me.  That and the fact that I had nothing to wipe with.  I used a shirt.

I had to put Akira back in her carrier to prevent more poo from being trailed all over my car.  I drove home feeling a combination of shame and pride.  I mean, at least I hadn't pooped my pants.