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  • Years ago, I had a foster kitten called Ollie, and Ollie had a bit of an issue with his little kitten bum.

    His vet visits showed that he was cryptorchid (his testicles hadn't yet dropped). Because his bits were still in his body, they were messing up the landscape for the organs that actually belonged there. The result: anal gland issues and an irritated hind end that did not always clue him in as to when he had to leave some buried treasure in the litter box. I could never bring myself to get frustrated with him since he had been orphaned when he was only hours old, and I had raised him from that time, feeding him and his litter mates from a bottle every three hours at the start and eventually watching him grow from a tiny, helpless thing into an adorable and playful ball of fluff. He didn't have leaking episodes every day, and I kept him clean and treated him with a topical steroid, but there was the occasional surprise poo appearance.

    On the very early morning of one such occasion, Ollie got on my bed and smelled like he'd just used the litterbox. I was only half conscious, and aside from the fact that I far prefer waking to the smell of coffee, I didn't think any more of it as I nudged him away from the head of the bed, except to note that the poo smell was lingering.

    Then my alarm went off. I was no longer half awake, and I was about to turn the dial to "rudely awake."

    I opened by eyes and saw an Ollie-sized skid mark on the pillow next to mine. (Ew. Gotta do laundry.) I sat up to find another "painting" on the blanket. (Gag. Are you kidding me? That's another load to do.) I went into the bathroom to find that he'd made his mark on my shoulder and left a Rudolph-esque poo dot on my nose. (Getitoffgetitoffgetitoff! Kill it with fire!)

    Apparently Ollie had to try out a couple of areas on my slumbering body before he decided to settle down.

    After taking a Silkwood shower and getting the first big ol' load of laundry in the machine, I have to say that I took a long, hard look at my life.

    My life was this: I had just woken up from a good night's sleep covered in cat shit. I worked myself up to the edge of a pre-midlife crisis, folded the newly-washed sheets like I was mad at them, and then I got a grip.

    I had just woken up from a good night's sleep covered in cat shit.

    It was gross, but it was also really damn funny and it could have been much worse; it's not like he did it on purpose - the poor thing really lacked control. I'd be willing to bet money that in any given setting, I'm the only one who was given a half-assed (see what I did there?) Dirty Sanchez by a 10-week old kitten. At least I didn't ruin an antique fresco of Jesus, right? In a way, it was perfect: I had a ridiculous claim to fame AND I avoided being one of the original cat memes. What more could a small-town girl want?

    As for Ollie, he was neutered and I adopted him. The only asshole issues he has now is sometimes behaving like one, and I can live with that.

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