The sounds of retching stumbled their way up stairs to the first floor.
The disembodied voice of my husband, laden with concern filtered its way back down.
“What are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Just …*retch* just doing the *retch* kitty *retch* litter tr*retch*ay,” I managed to answer.
I must state, at this point, his raucous laughter was most unappreciated.
I have also made the decision to forbid both the older two of my offspring to have sleepovers – nay, leave the house – at the same time.
The kitty litter tray is their job. It’s the only reason I had kids.
Come to think of it, if I didn’t have kids, I’m not entirely sure I’d even have a cat …. hmmmm.