I figured if I had to find his bodily fluids in the two places I occupy most, he had to let me kiss him. Displaying the brilliant sense I was born with, I locked Ratty inside the house with me, subjecting him to forced snuggles. I gathered up the pants and a nearby jacket (seemingly my hats and purse were spared? I prayed I was not wrong about my cursory analysis.) and then went to work creating a laundry pile.īefore laundering anything, though, I rewarded the most likely suspect, bratty Ratty Catty, with breakfast. Defeated, I shrugged, hoping this meant I love you. I began putting them on so I could remove the soiled blanket. So I grabbed the pair of pants I had left on the couch. The first thought I had, I kid you not, is that I can no longer tease Wendy for loving the cat that peed on her in her bed, not after knowing my feet had to be under or very near the turd burglar during the turd delivery. Not in the mood for games, I finally got out of bed and turned up the lights to find it there - cat poop at my feet, lightly smudged during the act of rising. I realized I was playing the worst version of Hot and Cold ever. With horror I leaned to Erik's side, inspecting the pillows. Of course I looked to the dark dark corner of the bed (poo corner, that is), but no, the smell was weaker there. I immediately began sniffing it in, saddened by its familiarity and disgustingness, desperately trying to locate its source. I'm so so sorry.) I thought, as I awoke to the overwhelming odor of feline feces, that I was merely having a nightmare, not living one. (Yes, Aunt Kathy, that is the blanket you made for me as a wedding present. For example, mere hours after my last post, someone left me this disgusting present in the bed. Much like a fish bowl, I have noticed that the cats do not think twice before soiling their home, leaving it to the bipeds to clean it up.
And the cats, well, they are now the cat fishes, of course. We have taken to calling the house the fish bowl as it seems the cats just circle around aimlessly, like they are on some sort of sinister loop. Cats outnumber humans now 3:2 and mammals outnumber rooms 5:3. Both are extremely high here in my beach bungalow. The evidence? Well, we need to begin with the cats per capita and cats per square footage calculations.
But now, after the month I've had and a few calculations courtesy my too-bright brother, I realize there is no denying it. But this, my marital status, could be considered a fragile thing - especially when my hard working husband has to sleep through my aforementioned feces sweeping. And besides, I figured, I am married, thus I can never truly fit the quintessential definition of cat lady - that lonely spinster surrounded by dozens of strays in a house that reeks of urine. But three, three is actually legal (I know as I researched my county's limits). Four cats, now that is crazy, I told myself. When I first (reluctantly) welcomed Ratty Catty into the fold, I firmly believed that having three cats merely brought me to the threshold of crazy. Funny how time flies when you become the crazy cat lady. It seems that more than an entire month has slipped away since last I posted.
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