Neither of our cats really clean their butts much, but Hermione is especially notorious for it. She collects her little butt nuggets like baseball cards then sticks her rear in your face to show them off.
A few days ago she was flashing her new nugget around. I was too tired to clean it off for her so I just dubbed it Gibraltar and left it at that.
Yes — I named a butt nugget. I know.
Since then I’ve asked Hermione how Gibraltar was doing when she would come to cuddle with us on the bed. She’d flash him, mutter at us, then curl up to sleep with Gibraltar in tow. Being a butt nugget must be hard living.
This evening Steven and I were relaxing on the bed — him listening to a novel while I was reading one — and along comes Hermione with her Friend.
Seeing Gibraltar, Steven points out, “You need to get off this one — I got off the last one.”
“But I like Gibraltar,” I whined.
“It’s. A. Piece. Of. Turd. You don’t have emotional connections to shit.”
Then I broke down into snorting laughter, and came into the office to write this story.
I think Gibraltar is about to be chipped off.