I impulse-bought the cats a decorative, fake-grass thinger which they just loooooove (to eat).
Much like spirits of the deceased, strands of the fake grass return to us in various forms once we think they have left this earth forever—Ketos barfs it up, Witten poops it out. The most recent grass poop sat untouched beside our futon for 8.5 days as Doug and I side-stepped around it.
My excuse for not cleaning it up: I work two jobs.
Doug’s excuse for not cleaning it up: If we leave it there long enough they’re bound to eat it, and then when they poop it out again its more likely to be in the litter box.
In the end Doug cleaned it up, which he says was only because he “needed to pick up a pen, so just happened to be down there anyway.”