I am minus one good potato today. Late last night, as I was heading down to the basement to retrieve some clothes from the dryer, I accidentally booted a small baker that had tumbled out of it's little basket located at the head of the stairs. Poor bugger tumbled all the way down, and landed right in the middle of the cat's litter box (located at the bottom of the stairs). It was a sad moment. Briefly I pondered the notion of washing if off, pealing the skin, and having a late night snack. Nope, it wasn't going to happen.

Anything that falls into a box full of crap is a goner: Food products, Ipods, nicknacks, combs, razors...even small children would have to be discarded. In the case of the latter, I just wouldn't explain the reason for putting my kid up for adoption. I'm not stupid. It's a good thing I don't have kids, honestly.

It has now been over 12 hours, and still I grieve. Only a few days old, the little potato was just prime for a spin around the microwave. What a waste! Now I'm not even hungry. The guilt is eating me alive.

Now I know what you're thinking: KJ, your cats are obviously in the litter box everyday. But yet, you don't throw them out.

Well, that's just silly. They have to use the box, don't they? Granted, I'm not particularly pleased with the idea of having them on my lap, knowing full well they might have, minutes before, been squatting at the scene of last night's horrific tragedy. But what are you gonna do?

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