So yesterday, Momma goes out to the HoF and finds a sweet smelling yuckiness and hunts down a blanket on a chair and under the chair is a sticky yellow substance. Now, we have a tray out there and really whoever is caught short out there should use it. right? Well I blame Gracie, after all, she is the one yelling for boys and confused in the head about where to pee sometimes, well OK, twice when she was a kitten! So immediately the blame lie with her. "Why do I have to be out here will miss grumbly piddle pants for a few hours a day?" I yell to anyone in the neighbourhood who can hear me. I put a stud cat to shame with my yelling voice.
Well, Momma was mortified to find a poop under the table outside in the run? "What the heck is going on here?" she shouts at both of us? Neither of us care and I purr for good measure. Because ManSlave has been caring for us, his nose is blocked all the time from tree flowers and dust, so he missed it, but Momma claims there was at least two or three days worth - the same amount of days we have been out here. Ho hum. The Parentals are stupid, they will never find out which one of us is doing it and anyway, Gracie has had a Chocolate Gold accident too. So my bet is her.
What's this... The IT camera is moving. OMC! Stop peeing - STOP! I can't. It's flowing angrily out of my person and onto the new clean rug and dripping through the fleece and through the plastic wicker chair and onto the floor. I have been caught on camera! It's me. I am the culprit. I REFUSE to be kept outside like an ANIMAL even if only for a few hours and I am showing my discontent by peeing and number twoing when the motion takes me. Uncle Paul used to complain about me leaving Chocolate Gold on the bath mat when the Parentals took a holiday. Every first day I would leave him a little gift to show how miserable I was. But no one ever proved it, only my food is a different colour to everyone elses so I guess it was obvious. The Parentals are even more mad at me and they can't look at me today. I think I know why, but I don't change at all, still yawping as though I own the world and everything in it.
Oh no... NO. MOMMA! NO I SAY! YAWP. Stop with the kissing thing. I mean, every time I YAWP Momma plucks me from my perch, detaching my velcro feet and kissing my sweaty belly to make me stop making such a din. This tickles AND it's embarrassing. Now I am going to purr as well. Oh no. This is not right. but at least I am getting attenntion even if it's not the type I am after and believe me, there is nothing more Yawp stopping than being exposed in front of your pride, upside down and having raspberries blown on your belly. OK OK. I give in. I will go and sit on the fridge and not make a sound. But don't put me back outside or I shall leave you more than a gift this time!