After having two cats, I'm never having kids: A long and pointless thread.

Last night I returned home, ready for bed at 11 p.m. When I opened the door, Pedro was ready. He immediately ran outside, back around my apartment building and through some neighbors yards, where luckily I was able to catch him. He wasn't trying to hide, he just wanted outside.

Relieved, I got him back inside, jumping over the pile of all my stuff I had dropped outside in my panic to catch him. (Luckily no thieves came by because my laptop, camera bag and purse all were outside in a pile for the next hour.)

Walking inside, horror awaited me.

Due to the fact that long fur and tummy troubles don't mix, Pedro has a few times in his life given me the opportunity to carefully rip poo out of the fur on his behind. Something that is highly uncomfortable for both of us, based on logistics.

But the trail of smeared poop schoochies all over my rugs and carpet made it quite clear it would be necessary again.

Meanwhile, the new kitten, Albus, who moved in a week ago that loves Pedro but doesn't give him a moment of rest was ready to get into the fray. So I shut him in a room while I tended to Pedro.

Fearing that the only reason Pedro wanted to get out was the kitten, which it still may be a factor, I put Albus in the bathroom for the night to give Pedro a break. I cleaned the carpets, fixed a bed and food bowls for Albus, and adjusted the litter box arrangements.

Finally by 11:45 I was ready to go to sleep, bummed but unscathed. As I am sitting in bed though, I notice a banging against the screen in my window. Convinced it was a bat, I go to look from outside to see if I can see it, and Pedro is right by the door with me trying to go.

Turns out it was just a giant ass cicada, drawn to the light coming from my window, and poo ass or not, I think it had Pedro riled up enough that he wanted to get outside to see it. He went under my bedroom window first when he walked outside.

Pedro continued to jump up on my bedside table as I tried to settle in and put his stank-ass tail in my face multiple times before I was lulled to sleep, reassured that I'm never having kids. I woke up to him plastered to my side, still with a faint whiff of poo in the air.

There's no moral to this thread and it's not very interesting, but for those who are still reading, the takeaway is don't have kids. Don't have cats. Don't ever love anything or you'll end up chasing it around and picking poo off its ass.