I love my boyfriend because he’s just as wild and crazy as I am, like when he decided that we should toilet train our cats. Who’s the crazy cat lady now? And that’s how I found myself on a Wednesday morning trying to explain to our housekeeper in very limited Spanish not to clean the downstairs bathroom because us weird white people are trying to teach a feline to pee in a toilet
“Los banos gatos purr-favor?”
I’m pretty sure I deserve the look that is only reserved for eccentric white people like me.
I spent all last week trying in a desperate way to get back in shape after a frustrating year of not being able to run, barely being able to hike and mainly reading a lot of good books and focusing on my blogging and writing. Writing a lot and cooking a lot means I am not in the shape I was a year ago and as I pounded out a few meager miles last week I felt it in every step on every snowy mountain peak from San Gorgonio to Mt Baldy.
I stared up at the Mt Baldy ski hut from one hundred feet below it and finally just gave up. My legs felt like jelly and my lungs hurt from the cold forty mile an hour winds blowing off the peak of Mt San Antonio. I needed to return home to try to coral the angry cats into using the toilet again anyways.
I felt like poo for how little I had accomplished this week until I looked at my Strava App when I got home and saw I had actually done almost four thousand feet in altitude gain this week in those two hikes alone! Suddenly I felt way better!
Than I came home to mutiny.
The cats decided to pee in the dogs bed because, well, cats are assholes.
This is why no one toilet trains a cat.