Usually, Javier is very well-behaved when we have guests in our room. He stalks around silently, or cuddles up on the lap that is most apt to rub him. On this particular Monday, Javier was not himself. He was crying and racing around the room like a crazy person. He was making all sorts of noises, climbing in, out, and on top of things, and scratching at the door to be let out. I have never let Javier out when he scratches at the door, because I don't want him to get into the habit, especially at odd hours during the night. I tried my best to ignore his antics, and apologized profusely to my housemates, because we are SERIOUS about Mad Men.
And then, the smell hit us.
And that's when I remembered, the litter box wasn't in the room.
Mad Men was forgotten, lights were turned on, and the room became a friend of the enemy as I searched it's hidden corners for the offender.
I had been shushing Javier as he cried for relief and tried to spare me the trouble that he was fully aware of in his bowels. He had tried to warn me, multiple times about the oncoming attack, and I had apologized to the roommates for his distracting behavior. Javier had been patient with me, and his last act of kindness was to find a small, empty box to commit his sin in, a box that I simply through away.
