The woman is cross with me again.
She should change my litter box every hour instead of falling asleep in her bed and leaving my tray unchanged from almost midnight to after 7.00 am.
I did the right thing. I went and managed my business in her shower. It’s not my fault if she has trouble accepting normal bodily functions. (She should realise that my plumbing apparatus is not the same as it was in my youth.)
Or, better still, she can change my cat door. It’s a little too high for me these days. It was fine once but it seems to have become suddenly higher, and I need to actually jump to go in and out.
Can you imagine? Someone of my vintage, not to mention dignity, jumping?
