Since Bridget's pee problems began, closely monitoring her litter habits has become part of everyday life. Months ago I moved one of the litter boxes to a place downstairs where I could easily hear if a cat started scratching in the litter, so that I wouldn't miss any of Bridget's trips. For months and months I have been attentive to the litter box, and Rob knows to pay attention, too. Whenever Bridget places a paw in the box, one of us is watching.

Actually, we don't even need to watch anymore. If we're in the other room and see Bridget head for the litter box, we can tell if all is well just by listening. We wait while she scratches, and then we listen for the sound of the urine stream. Silence after the scratching is bad, because that means she wasn't able to pee, although fortunately that hasn't happened for awhile. But if we hear peeing, there is much kitty-praise and rejoicing.

The other night I woke up and went to the bathroom, and my getting in and out of bed woke up Rob, too. Soon after we had settled back down to go to sleep, I heard scratching in the litter box. I figured it was Bridget, because I'd seen her near the litter box when I got up, so I strained my ears to listen. There was a pause after the scratching, and then I heard the gush. It was a rather long gushing. And then it tapered off and I heard the scratch, scratch of the covering-up.

And then next to me, with his face buried against my back, Rob murmured, "That was a good one."

I sighed contently. "Yeah, it was. It lasted so long!"

And then I giggled, realizing that while many couples have perhaps had that very conversation in the middle of the night, never in the history of pillow talk has the topic been listening to the cat pee.