Sometimes the meaty truth burns like a firenut

I am baby sitting some kid's cat. He lives a good 10 minutes away and every morning I ride like the wind to feed his lonesome beast. The cat is black with white paws. He is not very big but he is fat. He also meows. I am instructed to feed it two cups of food a day. I give it three. I like fat cats. Anyway, this morning the cat's poop box smelled of poop. Badly. I took it upon myself to clean it out. No one said anything about cleaning cat droppings but I take care of it like the fucking warrior scholar I am. I shovel that shit like it was what I was born to do. I scoop, I scrap and soon that box is a glistening diamond of a poop box. It was so clean I wanted to use it myself. However, there was a problem. While the box was clean, there was very little litter left in the box. Looking around the guy's house I could find no litter. Quite the problem. On the one hand its not my cat, so what the fuck do I care. On the other hand, fuck the cat, its a filthy rat eater anyway. I found the first argument to be more persuasive and decided to ride home without worrying about getting any new litter. Now upon reflection I fear that I might have judged erroneously. For while it is true that the cat is not my cat, it is also true that the cat is a filthy rat eater. Woe is me!