The Mad Crapper

Some of you have met Chloe. Some of you may not have had this pleasure. That's unfortunate. Chloe is  my 17 year old Ragdoll. Which means we have been together since I was 8.

I sleep with Chloe every night. She tucks herself under the blankets and into my arms, and sneaks her head under my chin. We have slept like this since we were both little. When I am home she is always by my side, even as I write this she is sitting on the other side of the laptop, peering over to watch the words fill the page. When I go to the bathroom, she escorts me, then waits patiently outside of the door, to escort me back. She waits for me to get up every morning and watches me get ready every day.

Chloe and I, much like any pair who have experienced a 17 year relationship, I assume, are very close. We have a relationship that is hard to define, and even harder to understand, especially for non-cat people. I'll try to put it simply: Chloe is my soul, embodied.

I know that may sound a little dramatic, but it is truly how I feel. I know that this feeling is mutual because Chloe let's me know when she is upset with me. She has a serious problem with my absence. Usually 2-3 days is my maximum allowed away-time. Well, I spent this past weekend in Cincinnati. It was one day too long and, when Chloe is upset, she acts out.

Thus, whenever I return home, for example: from said weekend trip to Cincinnati, the first thing I need to do is an obligatory check for rogue poops.

The Mad Crapper, herself, looking guilty. 

I know. It's terrible. Why would you have an animal that acts out their anger in the form of spontaneous defecation?  I guess it is just something that I have gotten used to, and it is something I now blame on her senility.

This time, her anger was displayed for me in the form of a turd in the laundry room. That's not that bad. Cat poops don't really smell, so she must not have been too mad at me. Once, she peed right on top of me as I slept in my bed. That is an angry cat.

One time, after I had been on vacation, even though Chloe is left with all the food and water she could ever want, she had a hard time forgiving me for leaving her alone for so long. I had been gone about a week. Of course, as soon as I arrived home she showered me with love and happy slobber. But after she got over her initial excitement, she started plotting her revenge. She strutted off to the other room, to sit alone until I went to sleep.

Usually around 10:15 Chloe will come and snuggle in to bed. When she didn't come in around that time I knew she was still upset, so I let her be. When I retrieve her from her angry-spot she just gets even more spiteful.

I slept peacefully throughout the night, exhausted from the trip. I was vaguely aware that Chloe had come and slept with me for a little while that night, but when I awoke the next morning she was nowhere to be found. I rolled over in the bed and closed my eyes, yearning for 10 extra minutes of sleep. I stretched out my arms and bumped into something small in the covers. What? What could that be? Did I leave my phone in the bed at night? Did I drop something before I left?

I woke up and got out of bed, I flipped back the covers, and there sat the most spiteful shit I had ever seen. She had crawled into the blankets with me and left her vengeance tucked into the sheets right next to me. Let me tell you, it is a terrible, terrible day when you wake up next to a crap.

I ripped my sheets off the bed and threw them into the laundry before I left for work, and passed Chloe, glowering in her angry chair as I left.

So, sometimes you are lucky enough to encounter your soul along this journey called life. Consider yourself even luckier if your soul doesn't shit in the hallway sometimes.