For any of you familiar with our newest kitty, Sir Monty of Stinky Butt, you know he keeps us laughing. I’ve shared several of his weirdnesses, but I’ve been saving The Big One for you.
You know how some cats insist on being in attendance no matter what their human is doing? Potty breaks included? Sir Monty is one of THOSE kinds of pets.
Whenever I am on the throne, doing, er, important paperwork, Sir Monty feels compelled to be with me. Well, not really with me, so much as on me.
He sits on my shoulder like a parrot to a pirate.
Which makes me some kind of toitey Black Beard, sailing the, er, stormy seas.
He’s an enigma, this kitty. He sits there, patiently, just waiting with his little tail wrapped around my neck.
Let’s be honest here: Pooping is lonely business. Why else do people notoriously bring the newspaper or magazines with them? We’re all trying to distract ourselves from having to ponder the deep pit of despair within our existential separation! Social media serve as a sort of shield against the meditational angst we would otherwise be forced to face in the quiet moments where we are captive audience to our own deep, dark thoughts.
And really, when you look at it that way, Sir Monty is merely trying to save me from myself. That’s an exceptional kitty for you! How lucky I am to have him sit on me while I’m doing my business!
But, of course, there is one small problem with this scenario.
I can’t just push him off of me, because he digs into my soft flesh with his wee needle-like kitten claws. How something so cute can be so painful is beyond me.
Unless we are talking natural vaginal childbirth, then I totally get it.
When I need to move to get some toilet paper, he gives me a warning prick with his cute little blood-drawing daggers. And God help me when I need to lean slightly to the side to, you know, ‘wrap up business.’ Believe me when I tell you it costs me in large amounts of pain and flesh.
I’ve learned to move slowly.
It’s gotten to the point where we could rate my morning constitutionals on the hospital pain scale. You know, “Rate your pain, where 1 is no pain, and 10 is someone sawing your arm off.” It might seem weird to apply that kind of scale to a trip to the John, but with Sir Monty, it’s appropriate. Fiber has become more important to me, than ever before.
Don’t Judge.
*** PS *** After I put the photo above up on the post, I noticed on the bottom right of the photo none other then Moose, giving us the stink eye. Awesome photo bomb, Moosie!
And a little creepy.
Mama Boe 