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“Because we’re going to teach dogs to clean their—”

“Let’s keep it civil, Dooley,” said Shanille reproachfully.

“I was going to say back,” said Dooley. “As in backside?”

“Oh, that’s all right then.”

“Thanks, Shanille, and can I just say I think it’s wonderful what you’re trying to do? I stepped in dog doo just the other day and I didn’t like it. It was soft and squishy at first, but then it was stinky and horrible the next. Max had to help me clean it off, and it took a long time and it involved sticking my paw in a puddle of water, and it wasn’t a lot of fun.”

“It happened to me, too, Dooley,” said Shanille, “so I can definitely relate.”

“And then when it didn’t come off, we had to tell Odelia, and she decided to give me a bath and I hate taking a bath, don’t you? Water is so wet!”

“Water generally is very wet,” Shanille agreed.

“The dog doo had gotten stuck between my claws and my little pink pads, and Odelia had to use tissues and even a toothbrush at some point, and it tickled!”

“I can only imagine,” Shanille muttered.

“And then she had to throw away the toothbrush because she said she couldn’t use it anymore after she’d used it on me to clean away all of that dog excrement—I love that word dog excrement, don’t you, Shanille? Dog excrement. It’s such a funny word. I didn’t understand what she meant at first, but now I do. Dog excrement. So funny.”

“Oh, Dooley,” Shanille groaned, and I think she already regretted dropping by.

We’d finally reached the fence that divides Tex and Marge’s backyard from Marcie and Ted’s, and Harriet loudly said, “Rufus, oh, Rufus, where art thou?”

Unfortunately there is no hole in the fence, but there is a nice garden table on which us cats can jump to have a good overview of the backyard next door, so we did so now.

Rufus, who’d come lumbering up, directed a curious glance in our direction. He didn’t need a table to step on, as he can easily look across the fence. Yes, he’s that big. “Oh, hey, Harriet—hey, guys. So nice to see you. How are you?”

“Rufus, we need to talk,” said Harriet, adopting her best re-educationary voice.

“Oh, sure, Harriet,” said Rufus. “Anytime. Oh, hey, Shanille. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Everything all right? Father Reilly doing okay? Good. That’s great to hear.”

“He’s very nice,” said Dooley.

“Yes, he is very nice,” I agreed. Rufus is probably one of the nicest dogs we know.

“So the thing is, Rufus,” said Harriet, deciding not to get sidetracked by all this waffle from the peanut gallery, “that you left a horrible mess on the sidewalk just now.”

“I did? I wasn’t aware—I’m so sorry, Harriet. I’m truly very, very sorry.”

“Apology accepted, but that doesn’t change the fact that people are going to step in the product of your defecation. So here’s my suggestion. Why don’t you learn to go on the potty? It’s clean, it’s pleasant, and it’s a much better solution for everyone involved.”

“The… potty? What do you mean, Harriet? What is this potty you’re talking about?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the concept of the litter box?”

“I think I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never actually seen one,” said Rufus.

“Max. Please explain to Rufus what a litter box is,” said Harriet.

I stared at her. I’d had no idea she’d penciled me in for a starring role in this little pantomime of hers.

“Well, go on, then. Tell him.”

I cleared my throat.“A litter box is literally a box filled with litter, Rufus. You, um, do your business inside the box, and the litter absorbs all the annoying odors and whatnot. And then when it comes time to clean out the box, all your humans have to do is scoop out the affected litter, deposit it in a little plastic bag—or, in your case, a very large plastic bag—and put it out on trash day for garbage collection.”

“Easy-peasy, and so much fun!” said Harriet.

“It does sound like fun,” Rufus agreed. “And where can I find these litter boxes?”

“Um… I guess you’ll have to discuss that with your human,” said Harriet. “For your size and shape I’d advise the extra-large model. Possibly the extra extra extra large.”

“I’m not sure they have litter boxes for a dog of Rufus’s size,” I told Harriet.

“I’m not so sure either,” said Shanille, as she took in the voluminous mass of dog.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Harriet. “If people want litter boxes in Rufus’s size, the companies producing litter boxes will produce them. It is simply a matter of supply and demand. Now scoot and don’t forget to tell your human, Rufus.”

“Um… there’s only one problem with that,” said Rufus.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I can’t talk to my human.”

“Mh…” I could tell that Harriet was stumped for a moment. She turned to us and said, “Ad hoc meeting of the CCREC. How do we get dogs to tell their humans to buy them a litter box?”

It was a tough one, and for a moment we were all stumped, then suddenly Dooley said,“We could ask Gran to join the CCREC. And then she can tell the dog owners.”