Full Disclosure

We've skimmed the surface of a lot of things in this blog.  We've shown you the good, the bad, and the stinky of living with six cats, warts and all.  We've tackled the big conundrums and faced the most dangerous trials.  But there's one place we haven't gone yet, and I need to warn you now...it's not for the faint of heart.

Dear Readers, I think it's time. 

It's time to tell you about Pooper Helper.  

I know, I know--it sounds like a really bad processed food from the eighties where you just add beef, but it's not.  It's that strange phenomenon where, whenever you retreat into the Room of Rest to sit quietly for a minute with a magazine and the fan going, you always find yourself in the company of at least one cat who's wondering why you aren't using the litterbox.  And why you don't cover.  

Or maybe they aren't thinking that, but they're pretty curious just the same.  So, you lift them up, and they plop on your bare legs and snuggle in, happily enjoying the fact that they know you aren't going anywhere for at least a few more minutes.  They smile and they purr and they hang out.  They're "helping."  They're "Pooper Helpers."  

Ahem.

So, Zelda apparently discovered this rite of passage last week and decided to "help," too.  I glanced up and noticed she'd come into the room, and that she was rubbing against my legs.  Generally, Zelda is not a huge fan of being picked up, unless she's just been terrorized by the vacuum and needs some comforting.  On a whim, I lifted her up and put her on my legs.  Just like the others, she hunkered down, purring loudly.  This is a cat who won't usually choose to sit in my lap under normal circumstances, but apparently, when duty calls (please pardon the pun)...it's Pooper Helper to the rescue!!  

Mister came in and she got distracted and jumped down.  But a few minutes later, she was back again, rubbing against my legs again and clearly wanting to "help" some more.  So I obliged.  She was happy.

A few minutes later, after I finished my shower, I opened the curtain to discover that Zelda had also been hanging out while I took my shower.  She looked fascinated when she saw me, probably wondering why I would have willingly done that to myself.  

Now this is becoming a ritual of sorts.  I pretty much always have either Mister or Zelda (but rarely both at the same time) supervising my shower time.  I don't know if it's like that cat commercial, where the older cat shows the younger cat the ropes, or what.  

But slowly and surely, Zelda is getting integrated into the household.  Today the bathroom...maybe tomorrow the bed?