That’s the question. There are five inhabitants in the house. Me and my lovely wife, M. Girlie. A friend from college, J. Proops, who’s staying with us for a while. And two fluffy balls of innocence and nonchalance, the Dumpling Twins. Those are they players.
Perhaps in a moment of hyper-lucidity I was able to grasp the true meaning of the Cosmos. Then after returning to the normal state of bleak reality I somehow forgot how that was all connected to me pooping on the floor. Possible. But unlikely.
Maybe this was a not so subtle clue from M. Girlie that she was unhappy with our relationship. The first step in a series of bizarrities that would crescendo in unspeakable crimes against nature and culminate in a messy divorce. Doubtful. She seems too happy for that just yet.
There was always J. Proops. I thought back to our college days. The incident with the donkey and the deep cleaning wet-vac. Or that unfortunate occurrence with the extremely large amount of Nair and the respiratory hoses. But that was a long time ago. And funny. This seemed to lack a certain amount of depth and panache. Besides, it was a very tiny pile of poo.
Unfortunately, I knew it couldn’t be either of the Wonder Dumplings. Both of our cats had been litter trained for years. They had the box, they had the knowledge. We had been upholding our end of the bargain –food, water, a warm home to sleep in. I looked down. It was clear that they too wanted to catch the perpetrator.
“Who could have done such a ghastly thing in the corner?”, their eyes seemed to say. Still, I didn’t trust them. But there was no good way to pin it on just one of them. And unless my understanding of anatomy is highly confused, it couldn’t have been both of them at once. Safety in numbers. Damn. It’s only a matter of time though, before one or the other slips up and shows his hand. Next time we’ll be ready. The poop saga continues…
-L. Pants
