I dislike cleaning cat cages with a passion.

It never fails, every time I go to Petsmart, I end up cleaning the cat cages. The store has a small side room with glass to let people see inside, which is where Tri County leaves some of their cats for people to gawp at. I end up cleaning these cages out, usually, because I'm one of the few who is willing to do so. Several of the cats dislike being moved, so I end up having to wrap them on a towel or blanket before taking them out. If all the cages are taken up, I pull down a carrier from the shelf-like space created by the top row of cages to stuff the cats in. It's annoying, especially with stubborn, big, or wriggly cats. It is smelly, and stuffy, since there's no ventelation and I keep the door closed to keep any cats that escape from running out the door. I have to scoop all the feces from the litter boxes, refill food and water bowls, clean them out if necessary, and brush litter and other grit from the padded floors if the cats spread it all over the place, which they almost always do. Once I'm done I smell to high heaven and am usually scratched up from irate cats, but I do get the chance to play with some of my favorite cats. My favorite that's here now is a young adult, probably just over a year old, named Sammy Lee. He hates other cats, and isn't overly fond of dogs, but he adores people. He meaws and complains when I don't pay attention to him, but as soon and I unlock and reach into his cage he starts purring like a car motor. He'll sit in my arms for as long as I'll hold him, and often resorts to playing with my hair is he gets bored. I can't resist cuddling him, he's just too sweet to ignore. Kawaii. My latest battle-scar is a doozy that a pair of kittens gave me when I was trying to move them from a top cage to the one below so I could clean it out. I tucked them both under my arms, but one wriggled out backwards and the other forwards, so I had one by the back paw and the other by the shoulder. They started to yowl and flail, so I had to drop them before they hurt themselves. Before they could gather their wits I grabbed both their neckscruffs and plunked them in the temporary cage. (Before you comment about the neckscruff thing, it doesn't hurt them a bit. That's how female cats pick up their young, you know. It makes their bodies relax so they don't flail around and injure themselves, and sends some soothing endorphins through their their systems, so it actually helps.) Anyhow, when those little boogers were struggling, the one in my left arm managed to give me a good scratching on my forearm, drawing a good amount of blood I might add. Hmm, quite the novel I'm writing in the blog as the days progress. Soon enough I could print this out and post a five-volume autobiography. I do hope you realize that I was joking.