The Heart of Darkness in Sharing a Bathroom

I stumble out of the litterbox gasping for air and exclaiming, “The horror. The horror.”

Salem gives me the stink eye.

“I need my own litterbox. We can’t share anymore. It’s killing me.”

“What are you talking about? I’m a delight to share with. I cover at least half of the time and I rarely kick out more than two or three clumps a week.”

“Are you kidding me? Every time I have to go in, it’s like a death march. And let’s not even talk about the odors emanating from there.”

“Well, there’s your mistake: You’re not supposed to breathe while you go.” Salem shakes his head, “Amateur.”

“I’m not going to be able to erase the images from my mind. I think I need a sedative.” I rub my eyes and glance around, “Where’s the nearest sunbeam?”

“Don’t be such a baby.” He waves a paw at me and burps.

“Ugh, what have you been eating?”

“I don’t know. I found it on teenager’s floor.”

“Well, now I know why the humans have been wearing masks lately.” I hold my nose and leave in search of a sunbeam. Only rest can save me now.

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