I try to make it a habit to always close the bathroom door at home because . . . well, I'm not sure why. I guess because I don't want Lonzie going in there and drinking out of the toilet. Well, last night it backfired on me. Lonzie had snuck in there at some point and hid out in the walk-in closet, which has a door that opens into the bathroom (and another that opens into the bedroom, but that was closed). So I stumbled into the bathroom this morning and ALMOST stepped right in a steaming pile of catshit that he'd left right on the bath mat. I'd have beaten him to within an inch of his life, but I let him slide since it was technically half my fault. Couldn't he have at least used the toilet like them new-fangled metrosexual cats, though?!?