this is ripley
Jones is stomping. For a seven pound cat, Jones can really stomp too. I say, "What is wrong, Baby? Do you need a snack?"
I get Jones a snack.
Jones does not want it.
"What is wrong, Baby, do you want a toy?"
I get Jones a toy.
Jones does not want it.
I pull out snacks. I pull out toys. I take Jones for a hall stroll.
[Hall strolls are a very big deal around here too.]
None of it works. Jones is still stomping.
I just do not know why.
Okay, we changed out the bathroom closet door that used to be Jones' door. Meaning there was a cat entrance cut out of the door. The people buying the condo though do not have a cat so do not want a closet door in the bathroom with a little cat entrance cut through it. So to be nice I put in a new door.
But.
That is Jones' door to the litter.
Correction. Was Jones' door to the litter.
And if someone used to that door being okay closed because, well, it used to have a little cat door cut in it, inadvertantly [did I spell that right?] closes that door --
No litter for Jones.
I do not know how long Jones was holding before I finally got he was stomping because I forgot to leave the door to the litter open.
He was sure happy when I figured it out though.
We are moving on the 12th.
Then we get to figure out a whole new litter scenario.
[My life is so glamorous. It is all about litter.]
This is Ripley. Last survivor of the Nostromo. Signing off --
Your
Do Not Forget To Leave The Litter Door Open Adams Girl
PS: There are no ps's.
