It must be Thursday. The scent of cavy urine is beginning to waft from both Princess Piggy Poo’s castle and her bedchamber to wherever I’m sitting in the living room. It isn’t a constant and pervasive odor, just hints now and again. But as Thursday moves along, the piss intensifies like a slap that stings for a quick second so that you forget about it until the frequency finally sparks action.
It must be Thursday. Time to enlist the services of the guinea pig housekeeper to remove the eau de pee-pee. Princess Piggy Poo insists that her bedding be refreshed regularly; otherwise, the nasty scent begins to linger on her pristine white fur. We can’t have that. It is unacceptable to Princess Piggy Poo as well as to Her Momma the Queen.
If we wanted to live like commoners maybe unpleasant smells could be tolerated, but we prefer to keep up royal appearances even those perceived by the nostrils.