The cats mourn the loss of their litter box as though they lost their one true love. Wherever I go and whatever I do in the apartment, a cat is watching me, sighing, whining. Olive sits upon the dresser, staring down. Penny is on top of the refrigerator sobbing as only a cat can sob. To get our attention, she leaps on the stove and knocks down a pot of broccoli. Then I clean up the spilled broccoli. It is difficult to focus here these days.
We punched the first hole in the center of the litter tray, but it turned out to be too drastic a step for the kitties. I had such high hopes when Penny peed directly into the hole. I thought, Penny knows. Penny understands. We put in an insert that made the hole smaller, but they still seem equally alarmed.
The floor remains clear of soft rugs and things the cats might see as a suitable litter box replacement, but one day the shower door was left open. Olive took the liberty of letting it all out on the drain. I feel guilty being the jerk who stands between two cats and their glorious box of Swheat Scoop. At this point, I would gladly put the litter box back and bring peace to this apartment once more, before my shower is soiled once more.