My husband and I didn't have children yet. We were enjoying instead our cream-colored Persian, named Mozart, who I got right before we got married. He was an awesome cat who thought he was a dog, with long fur that we had to brush to keep from getting matted. We had to keep his butt trimmed as well, to keep the occasional diarrheaesque globules from sticking to his posterior.

Sometimes we didn't keep up with his anal trimmings. I don't know why we kept forgetting. Maybe we were self-loathing and loved the waft of fresh kitty food fermenting on the breeze of a crazed cat gone nuts, fleeing through the house, terrorized by the incomplete evacuation. Poor kitty! He innocently enough went to his kitty box to doo his dooty and leave a little log to cover up. Mozart was a polite, even Shameful shitter, you see. So one can imagine what Mozart was thinking: "Oh my Gawd! I know I shit. Where is it? There's nothing in the kitty box." But no! The nerve of Mr. Poo! He hung on for dear life! It was so very frightening! "Oh no! It's still on me. It won't let go!!!! I gotta get away from it! Aaaaaaahh!!!"

The wild look in Mozart's eyes was enough for us to know that something was wrong, even before he tore the carpet trying to get away from the clinging, steamy SMELL that wouldn't stay in the kitty box. The recycled Meow Mix aroma following him confirmed the worst.

Sigh... If we weren't home during the initial Turd 500, it took us a little while to realize that kitty was in Shameful hiding. One lift of the furry tail confirmed it. Smellolicious! Mmmmm!

It was quite the tactical operation. We learned through trial and error that we needed several (many) pre-sized strips of paper towels, scissors for booty hair trimming, plastic gloves, several trash bags, a bathroom sink counter with working water faucet, a closed bathroom door, long THICK sleeves, and BOTH me and my husband. We learned to gather all this stuff BEFORE the gathering of Mr. Poo. We learned that backing the Poo-toting kitty into the bathroom was the way to go. We learned that my husband was the faster, better trimmer and poop puller off-er. We also learned that this left me with the holder onn-er job. And we quickly learned that I wasn't any good at the holder onn-er job either. Sometimes Mozart won some of the battles; but we came through most wars with only a few scratches and mini bites. Our prize was a wet-butted, clean, trimmed-up kitty!

We spent Easter that year as we always had, over at each of our parents' houses. My husband's mom gave us Easter baskets full of yummy candy. We got home and I put up the candy so Mozart wouldn't get into it. I then set the baskets on the fireplace and we went to bed.

Fast-forward a couple of days. We're sitting around watching TV in the living room. A cream-colored blur rips by. I raise my eyebrows. Hubby looks at me and says, "You smell that?" I sniff the air. "Oh, no."

"You get the trash basket and I'll get the scissors," he says with a sigh.

"Yes, doctor."

We set up the familiar tools on the operating table. Paper towels? Check. Plastic gloves? Check. "Ready, doctor?" "Go get the patient from under the bed." Check.

Here comes the fragrant kitty! "Awww... Poor Mozart!" (He knows what's coming. He tries to get away.) "It's okay, Mozart. Let's get this over with. Poor baby." Mozart is held down on the counter. Its..."OWW! Dang it, hold him down better than that!" "I can't hold him! He's freaked! I'm afraid I'll hurt him." "OWWW! DAAAAYNG it! HOLD HIM DOWN!" "HE'S TOO STRONG FOR ME!"

It's amazing how strong an adrenalized cat who doesn't want his butt messed with can be! This time it takes longer than normal to get the clump off his butt. I'm like, "What's going on? Why can't you get it?" He says, "It's weird. The hair is tangled worse than normal... ohhh! Here's the problem!" Doctor Of #2 grabs hold of some green plastic Easter grass and starts slowly pulling.

Mozart's HUGE eyes get impossibly bigger. They were dilated larger than I'd ever seen before. Imagine those old-fashioned horns on fire trucks that the firemen would crank up in an emergency? Or maybe imagine a tornado siren... The pitch and volume get slowly higher and louder -- "rrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrr" -- as my husband pulls out two feet of Easter grass. We barely finished the operation through tears of laughter. I mean, do you wonder how long it took him to eat that?!

Is there a Guinass Book of World Records? Nominee: Mozart. Category: loudest cat call caused by poopectomy.