The litter box had lost some of its shiny red luster over the course of its past year and a half of use, but the hard plastic container still retained all of its functionality. This was a testament to its quality of manufacture—given the daily rigors of Rupert’s energetic digging. The white ruff of hair on Rupert’s chest puffed out as he stepped onto the bathroom mat. This morning’s litter box dance routine had been a particularly sublime performance, even by his standards. He noted with pride the scattering of litter he’d managed to spray across the floor outside the dome’s curving walls, admiring the trajectory like a golfer studying the arc of a completed putt. This day was off to a splendid start, Rupert thought as he gave himself a good overall shake to knock loose any particulates that might still be clinging to his fur. Once he was satisfied that he had dislodged the largest clumps, he waddled into the bedroom, ready to begin his day.
