On the Littoral Boundary Between "Literally" and "Litter Box"

This is for Aubra, keeper of the excellent Illiterally blog.

Yesterday, Tony watched "Animal Cops" on TV. I was in the room with him -- my twilight surveillance on the outrageous squirrel family in the tree out the back window.

I heard the animal cop say, "When we entered the home, we saw rabbits everywhere. They shredded paper all over the floor so they could go to the bathroom. It was literally a litter box."

No, it wasn't.

A litter box is a plastic, rectangular clubhouse placed somewhere in the apartment just far enough away from my food that I don't get mixed up. It's filled with little ambrosia gravel pellets you could play with all day if you weren't so tired. If Tony doesn't do a full-box change on the 7th day, I leave him a gift shaped like an Abu Ghraib pyramid at the edge of the south forest in the corner of the living room.

A litter box, therefore, is not literally a home full of abandoned rabbits. For Chrissakes.