I come home every day after work and find some new toy the cats have discovered. Usually, its something I like, or used to like, such as the peacock feathered choker that went with my 2010 Halloween costume. No big deal. My fat ass can’t really fit into that costume anymore and besides I’ve exceeded the two time limit on Halloween costume wearing (pending they are in different cities or at different parties).
This week, Monday, I came home and found a tampon on the living room floor. Odd, but I dismissed it, thinking the cats found it in one of the many suitcases I’ve yet to unpack. It was a bit chewed up, so in the trash it went.
Tuesday night comes and I walk in the door. Again, there’s a tampon on the floor. This time I’m confused. Two in a row? I don’t remember packing that many (at least not loosely).
Tossing it in the trash, I don’t give it a second thought until tonight when I have my DUH moment.
Beside my toilet is a box of opened tampons that I actually rarely use, but I’m such an awesome house keeper they have probably been sitting there, open, for months.
Tonight I see one single tampon on the edge of the box, as if making its way out of the pack, attempting to escape.
Cats.
Not just any cat-Molly. She’s the teenage cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite mature and docile. We call her asshole and she’s been stealing my tampons and holding them hostage in the living room.
