Thursday, January 18, 2018
Pocket and the Midnight Poop
I am a dog of habit. I need everything to be done on schedule. If there is any change, it disrupts my delicate system.
My poop timetable is very important. There is the morning poop which takes place when I first get up, and my midnight poop which occurs on my last trip outside. I do reserve the right for a midday poop which may take place on a walk or at any point I want to cut it loose.
Daddy is in charge of poops. Mommy puts it in; Daddy takes it out. There isn’t much work to the morning poop. If it is cold or wet, I will gladly do the morning poop on the pads. But the midnight poop must be done outside and be precluded by a walk.
If this does not happen then the next morning, I will refuse to eat, and before I relent, I will leave a poop worthy of a Jackson Pollock painting either indoors or out, my choice, which will scare my parents into a poop studying frenzy for the next week.
In the last ten days, my Daddy and I have faced several difficult challenges to achieve the midnight poop. There have been several days of bitter cold. I do not like wearing jackets despite the chill. You never see a cat in a coat. Or, sure, sometimes you see a feral kitty in a leather jacket smoking a cigarette around the burnout tree, but domesticated cats who go outside to do their business never wear jackets. I won’t be a bigger pussy than a cat!
It usually takes me between seven and ten driveways to poop. For some reason the colder it is, the more steps I require. I also like pooping in peoples’ driveways. It is a way for me to be rebellious, and no one notices. We live in a 55 and older community. At midnight the regular residents have been asleep five hours. My parents could do Swan Lake in the nude, and thankfully no one would bear witness.
My Dad insisted I wear a jacket when he took me out for my midnight poop in the blizzard. The snow was falling sideways, the wind almost turned me into a kite, and I was up to my knees in snow, but I still took my poop.
A few days later a colossal rainstorm took away the snow. Mommy suggested we not venture into the storm, but Daddy insisted I would get an upset tummy without my midnight poop. We both got soaked, but the mission was accomplished.
The next night was close to zero with a bitter wind. When Daddy took us out at 10:00 PM, I pooped. Daddy said, “Pocket took her midnight poop early.”
That foolish man. The next morning we were snuggled in bed together. He put his hand on my tummy to give me a rub and felt the mariachi band playing in my belly. He took me out to poop right away, which I did with no distress but when I came inside, I refused my treat and breakfast. The silly man he had a to pay the piper for ignoring the midnight poop.
I had a treat before super, and expelled the Jackson Pollock poop, looked at my Dad, said “There’s your midnight poop,” and then ate supper. I hoped he learned his lesson that a 10:00 poop is not a midnight poop.
Really, after ten years you would think he would be trained.