A Lovely Bedtime Story for You

Once upon a time, there was a two-year-old boy named Gage:

He was a darling little boy and gave his mom virtually no problems. 

Gage was learning to go up and down the stairs and loved hanging out in his basement bedroom like a big boy, playing with toys. 

One day, his mother, Kar, decided to let him play in his room while she supervised homework for her two eldest children.  After about ten minutes, she excused herself from the table to go check on Gage.

He was happily playing in his room, but something was amiss.  Kar could feel it.  Literally.  Under her feet.  She was stepping on a gravelly substance that she knew was nothing other than kitty litter.  You see, the kitty litter box resided in the laundry room, right next to Gage's bedroom. 

Lest you think Kar is daft, the cat's litter box was one of these little numbers:

Enclosed, with a flappy door.  Kar knew better than to leave an open kitty litter box where a toddler could easily access it.  She figured that he would never flap that lid in to see what was in that mysterious box.

Kar was wrong.

Kar knew something was amiss when she felt that kitty litter underfoot, because the family cat, Xena, didn't ever use the litter box in the summertime.  She did her business outside, which made Gage's mom rejoice every single day.

So Kar thought, "Why else would litter be on the floor unless a certain two-year-old has been messing in it?"  She threw up in her mouth a little.  She reached a trembling hand out toward the flap and pushed it in to examine the inside of the litter box.  Was all well in there?

No. Ohhhhhh no.

Inside the litter box were about eight sippy cups, Gage's baby wipes, and every single item of clean clothing from Gage's dresser.  Along with maybe 10 cat terds that must have happened, like, in the middle of last winter.

Vomit.

So Kar had a really great time cleaning up that mess.  And now the litter box sits on top of the dryer, out of the reach of toddler hands.

The End.