It's been a few days, and I realized the last thing I talked about on this site was cat poop. Not a good way to win fans, so I figured I’d better go for a bit of balance. Here’s a story about a rat.

It was Monday, and like all Mondays, it sucked. Actually, the story started on Sunday, when my oldest stepdaughter complained that her rat was feeling listless and wasn’t very spry. Spry is my word. Teenagers don’t use words like spry. It was 11:30 at night and I told her the vet wasn’t open and we’d see how the critter was doing in the morning. I have to say, I wasn’t very attached to this rat and I didn’t really give it another thought. I mean, it was kind of cute in that it was white with brown patches and its whiskers wiggled a lot, but at the end of the day it was a still a rat. As you may have judged by my judicious use of words like “was” and “wiggled,” what we have now is an ex-rat, a rat which has ceased to exist, a rat which has released itself from its mortal bonds.

Here’s what happened.

The cat pooped on the rug today. I was going to punish her, but cats aren't that bright and our cat makes other cats look like particle physicists. She wouldn't have a clue what I was punishing her for; I doubt she'd even realize she was being punished. She'd just have that vague sense of discomfort that comes with some large biped yelling at her, then meow that she wanted "out."

It was my fault anyway. I left her at home to go to a meeting, knowing that she'd just eaten and that I'd be gone most of the day. It took me about two minutes to clean up the spot and disinfect it; being a male I devised a cunning set of cardboard scoops to handle the job, which added about five minutes to the whole venture.

All in all, my cat got a few hours of warmth and comfort in exchange for a few minutes of my labour, and that would seem a fair trade.

Which is to say that next time she stays outside.