I was in the hospital for a few days for a kidney issue, leaving my husband home with our nineteen-year-old cat, Miss Kitty. She has multiple litter boxes around the house just in case she is suddenly struck with the urge to go.

Husband: “When you clean the litter box… do you get sick?”

Me: “Uhh… I don’t enjoy it? Miss Kitty rarely has good poops anymore.”

Husband: “No, I mean, I was scrubbing the basement litter box yesterday when I started feeling lightheaded, so I had to stop.”

Me: “I just get some dish soap and hot water and scrub the box out, and then I let it air dry in the sun.”

Husband: “Oh. You can use dish soap?”

Me: “Yes.”

Husband: “I poured bleach in and scrubbed it out.”

Me: “Oh, my sweet, naïve husband.”

Husband: “…what?”

Me: “There is ammonia in cat urine.”

Husband: “I know. I smell it.”

Me: “You poured bleach on it.”

Husband: “Yeah?”

Me: “You can’t mix those. It’s toxic.”

Husband: “Oh.” *Pauses* “I knew that. I was just testing you.”

Me: “And your own respiratory system. Did you air out the basement?”

Husband: “It’s airing out right now. And I went out and got Miss Kitty a new litter box to replace that one.”

Me: “Why?”

Husband: “I thought something was wrong with it.”

Me: “That’s very kind of you.”

Husband: “Yeah, she hates it. She already peed on the couch, instead.”

Miss Kitty came around to using her new litter box, I recovered from my illness, and my husband never poured bleach in the litter box again.