The Cat Owns the House. I Just Clean It.

At some point in human history, cats persuaded us that cleaning up their poo was a privilege.

I do not know exactly when this arrangement was negotiated. I am fairly certain the cat was not present at the meeting. Cats do not attend meetings. They wait until the meeting ends, reject every decision and sit on the paperwork.

And yet, every day, there I am with the scoop.

The division of labour

The cat’s responsibilities are straightforward. Eat. Sleep. Stare at an empty corner as though it contains something I cannot see. Occasionally knock an object onto the floor to confirm that gravity remains operational.

My responsibilities include food, water, cleaning and opening a door the cat demanded be opened before immediately deciding not to use it.

This is not pet ownership. It is facilities management.

The daily inspection

Cleaning the litter box is the least glamorous part of the job, which is saying something because the job has no glamorous parts.

The cat usually supervises from a safe distance. There is no gratitude. No encouraging nod. Just the silent judgement of a creature who contributes nothing financially to the household.

Still, the box gets cleaned.

Not because it teaches a timeless lesson about the human condition. Not because every scoop brings me closer to enlightenment. It gets cleaned because I love the furry freeloader and this is part of the arrangement.

Perhaps that is enough of a lesson. Caring for something often involves doing repetitive, unpleasant work that nobody applauds.

But let us not become too philosophical. It is still cat poo.