"Rodney the Unkempt" or, "This is NOT a Poem"

            Mr. Toast somehow laid an egg. Yes, he is a boy cat. I had been mad at him for peeing on my bed, which had forced me to construct a hammock out of the few blankets he hadn't already fouled, so I made a mental note to have him fixed (that'll show him!) and then I looked for a place to store him where he wouldn't have fun.

            He'd make kitty-wee anywhere with fabric, so that ruled out bedrooms, and the pantry was out of the question since he'd probably just eat everything and then poop on what he didn't devour.

            I had him under one arm, toting him around the house, looking for a place to put him in time out. I walked slowly in an effort to drag out his torment, but he tried to escape, his claws digging into my stomach as he propelled himself forward. I barely managed to snag him by his furry black tummy.

            "GWUURRRR," he throatily yowled at me.

            I don't speak Cat-inese so I'm not sure what he said, and I wasn't sure how to reply, so I answered in a way that any living creature would understand: I put my hands in his armpits, brought him up to eye-level, blew in his face, firmly said, "NO! BAD!," and then I held him upside-down to my chest as I continued patrolling my house, looking for his punishment.

            His tail twitching in my face told me he was far from enjoying this new view point.

            I went into my room and then smiled. There before me was my lizard's terrarium, a fifty-five-gallon affair. Inside, perched on a real, authentic, fake-but-modeled-after-an-actual-rock ledge was Shrub, my bearded dragon. Or maybe I should say dragoness, seeing how Shrub is a girl, a very large girl. Now that I think of it, she's the size of Mr. Toast...

            Speaking of Mr. Toast, he had always been wary of Shrub. I wasn't sure why but I assume he had his reasons. It was perfect.

            I lifted the lid of the tank and hoisted Mr. Toast into the mock-desert, kissing his forehead beforehand for reassurance. I could taste the hate...

He plopped onto the sand and gazed around scornfully.

            "You two play nice, I'll be back when your sentence is up!" I called as I left the room, but his eyes were fixed on Shrub. Normally I'd be worried that they'd fight, but Shrub only eats worms and Mr. Toast is too lazy, hence why he decided to pee on my bed instead of using his litter box, despite the fact that it's right across the room.

            I left the room and soon my mind was wandering from girls to xbox to girls to food to girls making me food while I play xbox.

            I awoke several hours later on my couch with little recollection as to how I ended up there, only that it involved milk, a pool net, and a pair of blue socks that don't belong to me.

            Afternoon naps are the hardest to wake up from, so I decided to simply sit there on the couch for at least six hours, but then I heard the yowling coming from my room. That's when I remembered Mr. Toast. I rushed back to my room and looked for signs of distress; what I found was Mr. Toast, hunched up in the fecal position.

            As glad as I was that they hadn't killed each other and that Mr. Toast was finally going dookie on something that resembled cat litter, I didn't want him to do it on Shrub's sand. Shrub was perched on a different ledge this time, watching the scene with what I can only guess is extreme interest; lizard expressions are about as readable as "The Scarlet Letter." Yes, I did just go there, girlfriend.

            I reached in and scooped up Mr. Toast and plopped him down into his litter box.