We have a psychotic housecat who is deeply disturbed when we have sex. During the act itself, he start hissing and spitting and looking like a halloween cat. Afterwards, if he can get the condom, he starts howling at it and wrestling with it, flinging it many feet into the air before angrily attacking it again.
We wrap them up in a metric shitload of paper towels and wedge the resultant lump at the very bottom of the trashcan, to be taken outdoors at the soonest opportunity and put in the dumpster.
And by “we”, of course, I mean my husband. I’m usually getting us a glass of water during this production. And trying to keep my ankles away from Slashy McCat’s talons of doom.
Luckily, I’m an FAMer, so we only use condoms once in a great while.