Animals And Bathroom Behavior

The Face Of Stupidity

Friday night I got home about 8:30. Generally all three of my furry co-inhabitants are there to greet me at the door. This is not out of love, it's due to the fact that the first thing I always do when I get home is feed them. Last night though, I was only greeted by Wilma and DeeDee.

The first thing I did was check the walkway. Andy can be very quick when he has to and sometimes he'll sneak right by when I open the door. Nope, no cat out there. Kitchen? No cat. Fridge? No cat. Let me mention here that if my apartment is 500 square feet I'd be surprised. There aren't a lot of places to hide.

Bedroom? No cat. I then noticed that the bathroom door was closed. I tapped on the door.

Me: Andy?

Andy: Meow.

Me: What are you doing in there?

Andy: Meow.

Me: Do you want out?

Andy: Meow.

Yes indeed. Somehow my highly intelligent cat had locked himself in the bathroom. I have no idea how long he'd been in there but I'd been gone for at least 12 hours. However there were no messes to clean up, thankfully, so perhaps he'd only been in there oh .... four or five hours.

Today I went to visit the goats. As I mentioned earlier in the week, Stanton took the first brave step and sat in my lap. It was Leland's turn today. And oh goodness, wasn't he thrilled!

"Whoa, I can almost see into the chicken coop!" "Hey look, there's the creek!" "I can see the other goats now!" "I'm taller than Stanton!" "Wow, I'm so happy I could shit!" "Wait, that's a GREAT idea!"

Plop, plop, plop.

My goat shit on me.

Right in my lap. Twenty or so little goat pellets. A gift for Mom.

This would not be so bad, I mean they're pretty solid and all, but this was my last pair of clean jeans. So on the way home I decided, heck, I'll just pop into Macy's, snag a pair of jeans and be in and out in 10 minutes. Things rarely happen like one plans, do they?

I had not even set foot over the threshold of Macy's when I heard, "Hey April, whatcha doing at the mall?"

I look up and there is my co-worker Abed. Not Achair, ATable or ACouch but Abed. I really like Abed which is saying a lot. I generally hate my co-workers. There he stands, looking all suave in a brown leather jacket, with matching dress pants and a shirt. I am standing in a goat shit encrusted pair of jeans, a Yankees shirt with a big hole in it from where a horse bit me, with hay in my hair.

This. Is. Just. Great.

It turns out that Abed is a "spritzer." You know, those charming individuals who stand in the cosmetics department imploring you to let them bathe you in the latest perfume. This is Abed's weekend job. And forget college, be a spritzer. He makes $20.00 an hour.

Abed is a very friendly, warm person and he goes, "Hey there!" and gives me a big hug. A BIG hug. And then he backs up very slowly. Sorta sniffs the air. Looks me up and down and says, "Errr, lemme get you some SAMPLES!"

I guess I smelled even worse than I thought.