I think this would be a good name for a children's book, don't you...? Either that, or the next Harry Potter.

I say Musky Butt Joe ("a cat named Joe, from Mexico" - The Coasters) but really I don't know who's doing it. I do suspect Joe, but it could also be Katina...the shifty-eyed little minx.

Well, whomever it is is turding. Turding on the bathroom floor.

FX: Robert Plant singing, (instead of "swinging on the gallows pole"):

Thank you, Robert.

And it isn't any ordinary turd.

I said, THANK YOU, ROBERT...!

*ahem*

...it isn't any ordinary turd. It is...
FX: The 'X' Files theme
...THE TURD OF ANGER.

*thunder* *lightning* *cymbals crash* *a gong*

Uh, guys? Knock it off. *ahem*

...THE TURD OF ANGER!

Need I describe its consistency? No.

Well, if you must know, it is long. And brown. And firm. And cold. And calculated. It is...A PREMEDITATED TURD.

Put a sock in it, Robert.

It might as well spell out "fuck you" in turd-nugget Braille.

The Turd of Anger only seems to appear when I'm not home for 8 hours or more at a time. And yet, when I am home all day, The Turd is conspicuously absent.

But when I'm working hard all day, and I bring it on home to you, mama (Robert, I'm warning you...)...uh, when I do get home, and the cat (for the sake of anonymity, I'll call them "Kitty") perhaps realizes that I only left in order to earn money to exchange for kibble and veterinary services...they attempt to cover The Turd. With the bath-

*beating Robert to death with his own donkey-dick*

Aaaah. Yes. That's better.*

*and yet strangely arousing.

They try to get rid of the evidence by covering it with the floor, which doesn't work no matter how hard you dig. The walls don't work too well, either. Why don't cats understand this concept...? No, Kitty! You can't do that! Unless you're a homeless person - then all the world's your toilet paper...!

And so The Turd of Anger goes into the toilet to be flushed away to Hankyville only to mysteriously reappear the next day on the same patch of tile.

And so, since Robert is indisposed:

THE TURDING by Edgar Allan Joe

And the turding, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid tile of Pisser just above my bathroom floor;
And its links have all the steaming
of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er it streaming
throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow
that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

(Better use some Clorox.)

This is some spooky-ass shit. And I, I am fearful. Fearful of The Turd. Largely because I am working a lot of overtime lately, and I suspect it will be back to haunt me. I must know whose it is! And yet, I fear...

If someone doesn't 'fess up soon, I'm going to have to assume it was YOU.