Soon after my roommate moved in, she told me that she was a furry. I can't recall exactly how this came up. All I remember is how easily she volunteered the information. "I have some furry art that I made... It's tasteful, of course." With visions of mating mascots in my head, visions I am still trying to erase, I nodded, "Ah....well...ok." When I had to pass her room, I averted my eyes to avoid the beady stares of her collection of fox plushies. I tried not to squirm when she said that her goal in life was to be a wildlife veterinarian.
It wasn't long until Merlin moved in. Far from magic, Merlin was a meek little thing who had just enough guts to sneak into my room and use my cat's litter box before fleeing in fear. Try as I might to clean the box every day, the apartment started to stink. Really, really stink. It got into my hair and clothes. I started keeping my clean clothes out in my car and getting a clean outfit each morning so that I could go to work without smelling like cat poo.
The cats did not get along well, so I tried my best to keep them in their own territory. One day, my roommate left her door open and Whiskers, being a cat, wanted to go wherever she was not allowed. When I entered my roommate's room to retrieve her, I found the source of the smell, and the reason that Merlin was always sneaking into my room. It was his own litter box, flowing over with cat turds! It was clear that it had not been cleaned since they had both moved in. Poop and grains of litter spilled out onto the carpet underneath my roommate's lofted bed. Gagging, I grabbed Whiskers and shut my roommate's cat and his bin of poo off from the rest of the apartment.
Lucky for me, my roommate's job transferred her to another city, so she, the plushie collection, and the litter box of plenty left me and Whiskers in sweet smelling peace.