Cats really do make staying at home a lot less boring.
Case in point, this morning I dropped my coin box. It took me until age 33.89 to figure out (OK, was explicitly instructed) that it might be good to keep all my coins in one place. Who still uses physical money anymore? This is China!?
Anyway, I dropped this box of multinational currencies because Shanghai doesn’t do IRL money and because I’m alone in this stupidity, I just laughed and got on the floor to start picking up all the coins while the cat roommates chase down the ones that were still rolling away with some momentum.
And just when I thought “oh good these kitties will actually pitch in and help me locate some of these coins. Not like they pay rent or anything but this is SOME contribution...” I touched a thing.
I thought it was a piece of wood, but on further inspection, it was way too shiny and didn’t match the box, which wasn’t broken. And then I realized... IT WAS A F%¥KING COCKROACH WING. I had just TOUCHED a piece of VERMIN CARCASS.
Screaming ensued. And then shouting. Because I know how I came to put my finger on bug bits. Tigger, and older tabby cat, had never been much of a hunter, but Nutella the tortoise shell. My baby. My Nutella Munchkin... Is a murderess. But a loving one.
Therefore she dropped off a piece for me in my coin box, a container she clearly understood to be the appropriate graveyard for defunct play things. The only place to leave a present for the human roommate.
Good thing I had all the soap and water and Clorox wipes and alcohol spray a woman could ever need in such a horrid situation. The whole thing irked me so much I just started cleaning my whole apartment to restore my peace of mind.
Aren’t cats grand?