Last evening I was comfortably working away on the computer at my desk when Fez, my little feline laptop, hopped up into my lap for a cuddle. She settled down across my legs, commenced purring, and graciously accepted her just due – copious petting strokes and scratches from me, in between fits of typing.
When I went too long between pets, she would “make bread” on my leg, inserting just enough claw to remind me that she was there, and that she wanted another pet. As I was typing, I became aware of kitty potty/litter box stench, and assumed some other feline in the house (there are four) had made use of the litter box facilities – in the worst way. Being trapped in place with Fez in my lap, I ignored the smell, knowing it would soon dissipate, which it did. But then, moments later, there was a fresh wave of smell. I groaned aloud this time, and asked the air in general, OK, who did it THIS time? Again, the noxious smell soon dissipated, and I realized I was getting sleepy from all the computer work, and perhaps a short nap would refresh me.
I gently removed Fez from my lap and retired to the bedroom, with Fez following. She likes nap time, too, and often I refer to her as my sleeping buddy. We settled into the covers, and she assumed her favorite nap time position, curled up under the covers, on my chest and belly, still purring. I teasingly told her I would not pass gas under the covers in honor of her position, and I would appreciate it if she would return the favor. No sooner than I had spoken, I heard a cute little *pfft* of air, kinda like when you spray a tentative spray of perfume on your wrist from the perfume tester in the store. A horrible greenish-gas cloud stench rolled up from under the covers – my charming little Fez had passed really impressive gas mere inches from my highly offended nose. I had not realized when I warned her about passing gas that it really had been HER creating the bathroom smells from my lap while I was typing.
I guess if you love your children, you accept them, flaws and all. Besides, she still has a ways to go before she can match my husband in the family gas-producing event. He still holds the trophy.