Madden by Maddie

Mommy hasn't tidied up our trio of litterboxes in DAYS, so I decided to shit in her shoes and wipe my ass on her apartment-hunting paperwork.

I shit so much, she had to throw away her new, cloth Steve Madden shoes. She was torn about keeping them because she doesn't like to spend that kind of money on stuff but she indulged herself for giggles. But she should know that with giggles come shits (i.e., when it comes to "shits and giggles," I do one and she's NOT doing the other!).

So, she's definitely not keeping the shoes (they're in the garbage now!), but she can't get her money back unless she can prove that the wet, steamy poop came with them.

Do I care? Not so much -- she just cleaned the litterbox, so mission accomplished!

I'm in ur hamper, shit-streaking your skivvies

Mommy has seen every freaking apartment available in the Apartment Guide, and she finally decided on one today. But she lied about my ass -- I don't exist, in her world. And she notices how all these rental companies ask her twice about having pets -- once on the phone, and again in person. Even when she shows up, they say, "You said you're bringing a pet, right?" She blinks and answers blankly, "No." Hah -- smart girl!

But she came home and told me that the place she's looking at has brand-new everything, including carpet. Which means I'm getting a nice kitty prozac prescription before we go. Whee. Apparently my shit fetish isn't uncommon and now I will have to be on antidepressants so I will not feel the need to shit everywhere anymore.

Silly Mommy, there ain't a drug on this planet that will cure me of big, fat wet dingleberries like the one you picked out of my butt tonight when I tried to jump on your head and you nearly committed suicide from the stench. If I am not emanating an aroma of ass juice, how will you know it's me sittin' on your head?