My grandmother (God rest her soul) had the habit up keeping tabs on our BMs when my sister and I were children. She would ask us if we had had a BM or the day and would hand us a prune or two if the answer was a quiet and bashful "No ma'am." I've always considered her inquiries a bit strange until I had a constipated cat.
I never envisioned my future self keeping tabs on the bowels of my 4 legged children, but that seems to be the case nowadays. Fergie seems to have been a little off lately with his new treatments and was refusing food as well as making strange gutteral noises add random moments. The cure for this seems to be what Mike informed me was in our bath tub this morning. "A nice nugget," I was told was waiting for me and was not disposed of due to the abnormal size of the object. Cy had a brown baby boy this morning, one that I would identify as a log jam. He's much happier now as he runs around me begging for food. I suppose the same way my grandmother was once she regulated herself with a metamucil cocktail.
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