I’m here to expose a cat who flat-out refuses to bury her poop！！！！
She’s a silver-gray short-haired cat with the attitude of an art critic. She doesn’t cuddle. She doesn’t purr. She struts through the apartment like she’s walking the Met Gala carpet.
And her biggest crime?
She. Will. Not. Bury. Her. Poop.
Every morning, I don’t wake up to birds or sunshine—I wake up to a divine, nasal assault.
No alarm needed. The aroma tells me she’s graced the litter box with another… “statement piece.”
What’s worse? She doesn’t just leave it there.
She taps the edge of the litter box—twice—like she’s ringing a service bell: “Your Highness has delivered. Please handle accordingly.”
At first, I thought she didn’t know how to bury it.
So, like a total clown, I watched YouTube tutorials, read blogs, even demonstrated the motion for her. Yes, I pantomimed digging.
She just sat next to the litter box, blinked slowly, and stared at me like: “You seem to enjoy it. Why should I take that joy away from you?”
I tried five different kinds of litter. Three types of boxes. I even played ambient rain sounds like it was a cat spa day.
Nothing.
One time, I had just cleaned the litter box to sparkling perfection.
She walked in, locked eyes with me, dropped her business like she was dropping the mic, and strutted out.
Didn’t even pretend to cover it. Just vibes. I sat there, scooper in hand, whispering, “Do you even respect me as your janitor?”
She was already at the door, licking her paw like a Roman emperor overseeing peasants clean up after a feast.
A friend once told me,
“You know, cats don’t bury their poop when they trust you. It means they feel safe.”
Okay… but is it possible to return that trust?
So here I am.
Trapped in a scented prison of bleach and betrayal.
She lives her unbothered life,
And I ascend—slowly—into the disinfectant-scented afterlife.
Tell Us How Your Pet Stole Your Heart~
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