Nothing like waking up, feeling the urge to go, trundling into the kitchen,
backing into your favorite litterbox, over the clay, scooting sleepily into
the back corner, and Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh, when suddenly an insane monster who
weighs twice what you do sinks his fangs into your neck and pulls you
forward for some unknown nefarious end.  You stiffen all your legs and dig
in, leaving a straight wet line with a dollop for punctuation just before
the end and two furrows in the clay.
 
Lucky there aren't Martian ferrets, or instead of running into a rock the
rover would be solar panel down, tightly wedged under a rock, with sensors
chewed off.
 
Todd Cromwell, Dors and Seldon
[Posted in FML issue 2003]