Shampooer of Cats' Asses

I am going to have to put that on my resume, since it seems to be something I have to do at least weekly.

This is the guilty party:



Some moron is shooting off fireworks about 300 yards away; skyrockets, roman candles, bottle rockets, and stuff like that. George is hiding under the bed. It is not only not dark out, the sun hasn't even begun to set. Unless he is getting rid of it because his parents lifted safeties when they found his stash or for a similar reason, that makes no sense at all.

Someone else ripped off about a dozen fast rounds from a small-caliber rifle. This isn't exactly a prime hunting area, so I guess I'd better keep my eye on the local fishwrapper.