Poop. AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN.

I hate my pets. All of them. This morning I get up and take Sophie into her nursery to change her and something rolls under the arch of my foot. I ignore it, because with Izzy around, there's stuff everywhere. Then it hits me that this feels just like what happened a couple of weeks ago! I stepped on cat crap! AGAIN!! Seriously, this shit has got to stop. Hee, hee...funny me.

Then I take Izzy to see the free movie this week - Spongebob (it rocked) - and when I got home, I stepped in pee on my expensive living room rug. And you know what??? He did this a few weeks ago too! I hate him, hate him, hate him.

See, here's the thing: I don't like cats. I only adopted this stupid cat because he jumped in my arms when he was a stray. That's the last sweet thing he's done. He's actually a really good cat. He's never scratched any kid who's wallered all over him, and he doesn't meow too much, except to be fed, and he sleeps in till we do.

But, seriously, my life has already reached it's poop quotient. With two kids in diapers, and my own digestive tract, there's simply no room for any more.

Last week, Deltie came running in with a little turd stuck in her butt fur. GIVE ME A BREAK! I tried to wash it out, got disgusted, and just cut off her butt hair. I could not be paid enough to do this job. And yet, I do it for free.

While we were at the movies today, the dogs went nuts downstairs. Tore up the magazine that I had put into the hole in the leather chair to keep them from tearing up the chair more. Tore up one of Chris's Snoopy pillows. Tore up one of Izzy's stuffed toys. That's all I saw from the kitchen. After that I stopped looking, because I'm really too tired to beat ALL of my animals today.

So now Izzy, who hasn't pooped in two days, is refusing to wear a diaper. He's wearing his underwear instead. Know what that means? He's sure to have a disgusting blowout, maybe on our couch. Or, even better, maybe on our bed!

Poop. Can't live with it, can't live without it.