I have six cats. And they are well cared for and have plenty of space, our home is clean, and most importantly, everyone is spayed or neutered.
Keeping them healthy can get really interesting. Inevitably, there will be bloodwork, and inevitably, it will say, "Let's look into this further", which means, "Let's fuck with these people and make their lives hell!" Normal routines go out the window. Money, what money?
I needed urine samples from two of the cats. Since Sam went to the vet first, I thought I would start with him. He's a great cat, until you try to get him to do something he doesn't want to do.
One morning, I got up, and nothing. Everything was just as clean as it had been when I put him in there the night before. OK. No big deal. I left him in there and went to work. When I checked in on him again after work, the box was still clean and dry. Sam had peed all over his bed, the floor, everywhere but in the box. That's OK. That just earned him another night at the Pee for Me Inn.
Next morning, I went to check on him. The floor was clean and dry. His bed was still clean and dry, but there in the box was the lab litter, all scooped up in the center. I'm pretty sure Sam measured for it and everything. (They are smarter than we think.) The cherry on that particular cake? Right in the center of the piled up lab litter was a massive poop.
Sam can't speak, but he very clearly said, "Fuck you!" that morning. Well played, Sam. Well played.