Yesterday morning we got up to find water in the basement, which made me feel sort of cranky, apprehensive, and hopeless. It reminded me of the big mess last summer, and it reminded me that we really need to DO something.
When I left for work, I saw that the rain and smattering of hail had pulverized the first three tiny crocus blooms.
On Tuesdays, Jut has a 12 hour work day. So it was fun that on our lunch hour, we sopped up water in the basement. The water had seeped into litter pan territory, and it is important to know that Jelly Roll is a JERK, and gets litter EVERYWHERE when he scratches. Also, sometimes his fat rear misses the pan. I scraped up soggy cat litter mud/muck, and I am pretty sure it was not all clean litter. It’s funny how a little spilled litter can turn into a giant glue-like disaster.
HILARIOUS.
It is also important to know that since I started eating healthily, my, uh, potty needs have become much more…regular. (Edit: I feel all antsy that I am talking about n-u-m-b-e-r t-w-o, but, I think it is necessary.) I needed to go, but we have one bathroom, one short lunch break, and I sacrificed for my spouse. Anyone who shares one bathroom with a spouse and/or roommate and/or entire family KNOWS what I am talking about. And! I had to clean up litter mud. SHUT UP.
So, because everybody knows it is IMPOSSIBLE to go at WORK, I waited. Work was busy all afternoon, super busy. My blood sugar got all wonky at some point, and then I felt icky for the last few hours of work. I got out late, and then had to go to the grocery store, because our grocery situation was DIRE. I am a poky grocery purchaser, and when I finally left the store I was hungry, woozy, tired, and I still needed to go to the bathroom.
The wind was brutal, and I called my sister to hear about her new job. I lugged in groceries while my skirt kept blowing up dangerously, clinging to my phone because I like when I talk to my sister and I have bad phone timing. I dumped the groceries on the floor while the dogs pranced around under my feet. I took out the dogs, one at a time, and got off the phone. After coaxing them to potty (Monk likes to dramatically shiver when the wind is over 30 mph), I herded them inside.
The wind had blown over the trash bin outside, which held the bag of nasty litter muck. That particular bag was spilling out, so I went back outside to upright the bin and get that bag back where it belonged.
The dogs were galloping wildly around the living room and taking breaks to gulp down too much water, and the groceries were still on the floor, and I was still wearing heels and a SKIRT, but I decided to head for the bathroom. Also, it is important to know that our bathroom door has not been LATCHING PROPERLY lately. So I was finally on the toilet (I know, gross) when Monk busted in, wedged himself between me and the tub, opened his mouth, and projectile vomited at my feet. ALL OVER THE RUG. While I was On The Toilet.
Then, he stood there, panting and doing that creepy dog-laughy-smiling thing, looking at me, and I told him I hated him. He knew I didn’t mean it, but, COME ON. Why must they chug water and then play Wrestle Mania? Bonus: the cats were lurking right outside the bathroom, whining for their stupid, stupid DINNER, because they clearly were going to DIE if I waited ONE MORE SECOND to open a can of disgusting fishy CAT FOOD.
After I cleaned it up, and put away the groceries, and called my sister to share the latest dog news, I put on pajamas and ate cereal for dinner on the couch.
With Monk.
Love,
black sheeped
