Cats be Crazy

Honey is, for the most part, a pretty chill cat.

She just likes to hang out around people, get petted, get fed treats, play with her toys, and chill out for some nappy-goodness.

The only time she really seems to get a little uptight is when I’m cleaning her litter box.

If you follow me on Twitter you may have already seen a post that sorta sums up our relationship during the all-important litter box cleaning part of the day.

I’ll re-post for those of you who (foolishly) do not follow me on Twitter:

As you can see, things are just a wee-bit contentious come litter box time and that leads us into what happened on Friday afternoon.

I was cleaning Honey’s litter box and she was anxiously watching me do so from the living room.

Everything seemed to be going normally until she came sprinting at me, leapt into the box, and attacked the pooper scooper with ravenous fury.

Once I’d dropped the scooper and she’d sufficiently mauled it into submission, she started kicking litter all around the box before looking at me, yowling like a crazed tribesman on the warpath, and sprinting off to the bedroom to go nap under the bed for the next hour or so.

I’m not entirely sure what important part of litter box protocol I was breaking, but I must have broken the hell out it because I had never seen that before.

Cats be crazy.