Dedeucetive Reasoning

I was late to work today for the first time. Have you ever had explosive diarrhea? Don't lie, I know you have. Have you ever seen a cat with explosive diarrhea? Neither had I… until this morning

The cat's defecating exploits have been common fodder on the blog, but apparently unsatisfied with the amount of coverage he's received as of late, he upped the ante this morning.

The litter box resides just outside the bathroom and I was in the shower when it occurred so again it was my nose that first detected the offense.

What? The? Deuce???

I emerged from the bathroom to an ungodly scene of wraith and destruction and a cat nowhere to be found. Typically the cat keeps his ones and twos separate. That is to say, shit in the back, whiz in the front. In this case, the deuce was all up in the front, which can only be the result of one or two things: 1. The shit was coming so sudden and fast that dude didn't have enough time to get in and turn around; 2. Dude knew it was going to be bad and didn't want to limit the explosiveness of the deuce by directing it to the back.

While some of the deuce was contained in the front of the box, the vast majority of it was dispersed in a 24" radius outside the box. I'm not making this up. It was like a little cat turd strapped on some dynamite and walked into a crowded market of litter or something. I was literally crouched down wiping the walls and floor off with wet wipes. Wet wipes I tell you! Do you know who typically use wet wipes? Parents with infants. Not dudes with cats.

As I was cleaning up the crime scene I thought, this is not the byproduct of cat food. This is like the offspring of an unholy union between a Chipotle steak fajita burrito and like 14 Natural Lights with maybe a shot or two of 151 then a late night run to Carl's Jr. for a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger. It was bad.

Only after I finished cleaning did the cat emerge with a look on his face as if to say, "What's going on in here?"

I snatched him up right-quick knowing there was no way he came out of that scene unscathed, and he hadn't. Not only did he still have a dingle berry the consistency of peanut butter hanging off his sphincter, the motherfucker had stepped in the shit and was tracking it around on his paw. So again, picture me holding a cat upside down by one leg, wiping his ass like a child then cleaning out in between each little toe. Fucking. Gross.

After all that I still had to go around the house like Sherlock Holmes in search of every little shit-marked paw print. How much square footage do you think a cat can cover in approximately 5 minutes? I'm guessing about a thousand-fucking-square-feet.

"Dear god, Dr Watson! The suspect showed absolutely no mercy here."

"No mercy at all, sir."

"In all my years at Scotland Yard I've never seen anything this horrendous."

"Quite bloody horrendous indeed, sir." 

“The smell is just positively assaulting, Watson.”

“I feel quite assaulted myself, sir.”

"Do you have anything fucking original to add to this conversation, Dr. Watson?"

"Not at all, sir. I'm actually finding it quite difficult to breathe in here, sir. As if the cat shit has wrapped two shit-stained hands around my throat and is slowly but firmly restricting the airflow to my lungs. I'm actually feeling quite lightheaded, sir."

“Hmm… lightheaded indeed, Watson. Lightheaded indeed.”