The cat and I are not friends.

I wasn't given the option, of course, but if I had been, I'm pretty sure I'd have eaten an entire jar of pickles over giving a cat a bath at 38 weeks pregnant. Pickles, in case you are unaware, are cucumbers soaked in EVIL and I hate even the smell of them.

Apparently Homer wasn't too happy about being put in the crate to get his nails trimmed this morning, and he let me know it by using the crate as his litter box before we got back home.

Don't let the pathetic expressions fool you. He was disgusting and covered in bathroom mess, and Kevin was not at home, so it's me you should feel sorry for. Thank goodness his nails were freshly trimmed. I don't want to imagine how shredded I would have been otherwise.