Privacy goes out the window when a cat comes in the house. If yawning is contagious, it is nothing compared to potty time here. Ralph and Celeste can be sound asleep at the other end of the house. No matter how quietly I walk, if I go into the bathroom, within seconds both cats appear. How do they know? There's no such thing for me as shutting the bathroom door. Lack of privacy is one thing, listening to the cats scratching at the door and reaching long, skinny arms underneath is quite another. Using our respective litter boxes, going potty is a community affair. Sometimes both cats are in the box side by side at the same time, with me stuck there as an unwilling spectator. Celeste must be the older sister. Sometimes Ralph will be in the box and before he can finish, Celeste will be scraping litter over his contribution, reaching under his butt to get the job done. She evidently doesn't trust him to do it right. Finished with their business, the pair turn their attention to me. Celeste wants to sit on my lap, while Ralph tries to peek at my lady parts. I needn't be concerned about surveillance cameras; I'm always under observation.
Debbie K. and I have formed a trash co-op. Neither of us generates enough to fill a weekly barrel, so she puts her stuff in my trash can rather than save it up for a costly dump run. For me, it's an incentive to get the barrel down to the big road on Monday afternoon rather than have us both make a Tuesday morning dash. Trash Guy must wonder what changes I've made in my lifestyle now that my can is twice as heavy each week.