Ready for the Apocalypse

I've just cleaned the litter box and scrubbed and mopped the floor.

As far as I'm concerned, the Apocalypse cannot come quickly enough.

Still, there's something wonderfully humbling about cleaning the litter box. We humans strut around with our fancy cerebral cortexes and language skills and abstrast reasoning, imagining that we're the apex of evolution or the pinnacle of God's design, whichever way you want to view it, but either way, we're hot stuff. We can reason! Yeah! We can design things! Yeah! We can create lovely music out of nothing! Yeah!

And then, all of a sudden, we're on our hands and knees scrubbing cat poop off the floor of the laundry room, cleaning up after animals who don't give a wet slap for abstract reasoning, music, or much of anything else except for stealing the last iota of what passes for my dignity.