Miss Priss

That would be Emma. One of my 2 cats. Part of my morning routine is to clean the litter box she shares with her brother Cooper. As coffee water boils I'm scooping and disposing. What has already taken place is the tossing of Pounces. As soon as I enter the confines of the kitchen they assume their positions in the living room. It goes like this. Handful of Pounces, tossed in the air, landing all over the carpet. Cats searching, finding, scarfing. Like an Easter Egg hunt. Occurs daily. Afterwards as I sit down to read the morning paper or surf the net, Emma may begin to squeak. She doesn't meow. Only emits a tiny high pitched squeak. Attracts my attention because it's shrill and annoys the hell out of me. Often I try to ignore it but she's a persistent little fur ball. The squeaks are not inquiring "where are my Pounces?" No, they're about her dissatisfaction with the state of the litter box. To get her to cease and desist I must follow her into the kitchen (she's squeaking all the way) to the scene of the crime. Standing between my legs with her two front paws on edge of the litter box she looks up at me and back to the box, up to me, back to box, squeaking throughout. I "talk" back. "Emma, I cleaned the box 10 minutes ago. Scooped everything out. Put new litter in and even added some baking soda. NOT MY FAULT that as you scarfed down a 2Nd helping of Pounces, Cooper came in and dumped!!!" She doesn't care. She wants it cleaned to her standards. So with large green cat eyes looking up at me I re-scoop and re-pour. I step away. She looks over her shoulder and squeaks again. This time it's not about cleaning the litter box. No, it's about "Can't I have some privacy?!" I depart the kitchen.

We are not amused.