I look up from my perch in the gaming chair curiously. Pipkin is the newest edition to our little family: an orange and white tabby we brought home last Fourth of July who enjoys chasing, cuddling, and making the most insistent cat noises--no it's not meowing, I don't know what it is. The best way to describe it, really, is Pipkinese
"She has pooped more than any Pipkin should ever poop."I'm trying not to laugh.
"Then," Chris continues, desperately, "she doesn't cover it! No, she just starts scratching on the plastic wall of the litter box, over and over again, like that's going to do anything! GAH!"
"Pooped more than any Pipkin should poop, huh?"
"Yes!"
"How much, is that exactly?"
"Too much. WAY too much. More than any cat should ever have been able to poop."
At that moment, the guilty party pranced into the room, paused, glanced from me, to Chris, and back at me, then meowed with the confusion of the clueless innocent.
It's the little things in laugh that make me laugh.
That, and the fact that it's passed my bedtime.
