The Cat’s Out Of The Bag


“There’s poo in the bathroom!” yelled Miss4, racing into our office and tugging frantically on my shirt.

“Great,” I said, almost but not quite looking away from my laptop. “Just flush the loo.”

“It’s not in the toilet, Daddy,” said Miss4. “It’s on the floor.”

“Bugger,” I said, and sighed. “I wonder who did that?”

I was being sarcastic. There was only one suspect who fit this M.O. – the as yet untoilet-trained Miss2.

Or so I thought.

“It was the cat!” Miss4 informed me.

“The cat? Why would the cat poo in the bathroom?”

It was a rhetorical question. I’m not amazed a cat would shit all over my house so much as I’m amazed every single time it does its business in the kitty litter. Which up until now it’s been pretty good about.

“Or maybe it’s not poo,” continued Miss. Her face was thoughtful. “It didn’t feel like poo.”

“You touched it!? Jeezus!!”

“I touched it and it was soft.”

“Well, I hope you washed your hands,” I said, remembering she’d grabbed my shirt.

“I did,” she said, and went to race off.

“Where are you going?” I asked her, resigning myself to get up and sort the mess out.

“To wash my hands.”

Pleased to say the cat hadn’t let me down and Miss2 wasn’t going to get her nose rubbed in it either. The offending lump of nastiness ended up being a raisin.


Rookie mistake.

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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”


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