My cat Dexter just pooped on my bed again.
He’s been doing it since we moved to the condo a few months ago. I’m at a loss, really. I’ve yelled, I’ve cried, I’ve scruffed him and hissed like mama cat. I bought him a ton of toys and a huge new cat tree, and had my handyman build a run across the balcony. I even had Dexter talk with an animal communicator.
Still, I find yet another pile.
Somehow, it seems an apropos metaphor for 2009. This year has dumped a lot of shit at my doorstep. I say that not for pity’s sake; I know there are a lot of people out there going through the same experience, and much worse. And we all seem to have the same reaction: You yell, you cry, you do what you can to accept it, and look for some deeper understanding of it all. But sometimes, all you can do is just clean up the mess and move on.
During his old standup routine, the brilliant comedian Joel Hodgson (the brains behind Mystery Science Theater 3000) would say, “Shit happens … if you eat right.”
At least I know I’m feeding Dex well.