As I was SAYING yesterday before my stupid computer crashed (I hate computers. So bad.), I bought a new litter box.
I KNOW! Can you believe you were kept from this news for 48 hours?
I bought it with part of the Amazon gift certificate my father sent me. And I realize I am the only person on planet Earth who would use a gift certificate to buy a litter box.
But LOOK at it!
It has a dome, which will make Marvin jealous because he always wanted to live in a stupid dome house, and it has curvy stairs kind of like they had in the Beverly Hillbillies.
Other than the advantage that my cats can parade down the stairs as Ellie Mae Clampett did whenever she'd finally put on a way-too-frilly dress, the steps mean Edsel can't stick his ludicrous SNOUT in there and get him some cat bits. Some Almond Roca, if you will.
So it's all delightful. Except I got the thing, and it came with directions, including 75 steps for how to put the top on the bottom, which believe it or not I was able to discern without their help.
However. HOWEVER. It also comes with a filter, which is wonderful and I need all the get-the-cat-poop-smell-out-my-house help I can get, and the filter also had this plastic...disk action that looked like it'd snap shut, except it didn't, and you were supposed to place this contraption to the top of the dome. And the filter part? Came with no directions. Because placing up there is so OBVIOUS, I guess.
Well.
I snapped and I twisted and I turned and I TRIED TO GET THAT #$@**#$ thing in for FORTY minutes, and you KNOW how I have the spatial relations skills, and I kept yelling "#@@&!" and scaring the dogs. Finally I BURST out of the house, carrying that dome, and STORMED across the magnolia leaves to Peg's, who is an interior designer who draws her own blueprints and such.
POUNDPOUNDPOUNDPOUND!
I knocked irritatedly on Peg's door, like this whole thing was her fault.
"You startled me!" she said, looking at me in my work clothes, with no shoes, and a litter box lid. I looked like a homeless business casual person.
"I CAN'T GET THIS F****NG FILTER ON THE FU****G CAT BOX!" I screeched.
Peg put her purse down, as clearly she was getting ready to attend her I-have-an-insane-neighbor support group, and placed the dome top on her table.
"Let's see, you just...no. Well, then you...hmm. How--F**K!" yelled Peg.
Nevertheless, in five minutes she had figured it out.
Really, have you noticed I am not good at ANYTHING? Nothing. Except garnering pets. I guess that's good.
As long as they don't poop, because there will be no filter.
Crap.
