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Illustration for article titled In Which Sh*tty K*tty Springs a Leak

We are back.

There were many adventures and should be many fun anecdotes, but first: we unpack. We will not retrieve FluterDog until tomorrow and I (naively) looked forward to an afternoon of cuddles with Sh*tty K*tty while catching up on all the work that weddings do not allow for.

I'd intended for my welcome back post to outline the bet that FluterDude and I made in the car. We have two pools going: one for the date on which the first of our conservative-state friends asks, "So ... what about the baybehs?" and a second for who will do the asking.

My money is on an office secretary I shall not name. His money is on July 4th.

In the meantime, a much less amusing reality:

It seems Sh*tty has sprung a leak. He leaves little puddles of leaky, leaky cat piss wherever he goes.

I know that I should feel badly for Sh*tty, and on some level, I do. I know that Sh*tty needs medical attention - and first thing in the a.m., he shall have it. In the meantime, however, Sh*tty has turned our apartment into a cat toilet, and appears to have slept for an extended period on the couch. I know this because there is a puddle approximately two times his gargantuan size on the couch.

On my spot on the couch, to be more precise.

My spot on the couch is a giant, giant puddle of cat toilet.

FluterDude is renting an upholstery cleaning machine, and for now I am working from the bedroom. Sh*tty senses something is wrong as the cuddles are not forthcoming.

I promise to forgive him after his diagnosis.

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