Blocks to the left of me, blocks to the right of me, blocks ahead of me...blocks behind me I already clawed my way over, no way I'm going back there.
Oh. Gross. Cat made a stinky. Just now.
(This is stream-of-consciousness. Yer gettin' yer feet wet.)
I had to get up just now and clean, because gross. But I'm used to it, because it happens a fair amount. Less than it used to, but more than I'd like. Which is any. Any hall poop (or non-box poo) happening is more than I'd like.
It was in her pan at first, I could hear that. Her pan is twelve feet down the hall in the bathroom. How does it the stink travel so far so fast?
Then I heard it again, turned my head to look behind me down the hall, and I see the front half of her body. So I know she's making a stinky pile of poop in the hall now too.
She's old. Geriatric old, which is different from senior old.
Now, two minutes later, she has already forgotten. Not me, Princess Poops A Lot. Not me.
Yes, I've taken her to the vet. Numerous times. I don't really want my five minutes writing today to be about my magical pooping cat.
I don't want that any day, really.
Blocks. I got 'em. I don't want my five minutes to be about that either. But at least I'm typing. I do so love the sound of my keys click-clacking.