So, here's the deal. I'm living in a world of shit right now, and I don't mean this metaphorically. My world is so full of poo, so heaping with excrement, that I've all but given up on ever feeling clean again.
Aidan and I switched up the cats' dry food, which usually isn't too big a deal. We weather a few kitty farts and we're good to go. This time, though, I accidentally fed the kitties piles of the rich food we were supposed to reserve for treats instead of their regular kind in a new flavour. Oops.
Since that fateful feeding frenzy through Sunday and Monday, I have found gooey stashes of poo:
- on my bath towel,
- inside my faux fur winter coat,
- on my spring jacket,
- on my second favourite purse,
- folded into an empty pillow sham,
- and soaked through all the clothing I keep piled on top of my dresser that I wear on a regular basis.
They basically shot poo through four different rooms.
In an effort to keep the ordure to a lesser level, I have been throwing things out, washing what I love, and scrubbing my hands repeatedly. The windows are all open despite the cold, just to keep the air breathable. I keep vigil near their litter boxes, hoping for some nice, solid excrement each time one of them squats. I lean in and hold my breath, chanting please please please please please in my mind. And I have been washing everything I can at least twice in the washing machine with hot water and vinegar, because the stench is both tenacious and pernicious.
On top of tenacious and pernicious, mind you, this tide is also vile, putrid, eye-watering, and unrelenting. You can taste it.
While Aidan and I were carrying two garbage bags of our personal horror story down to the dumpster last night, we realized something, though: Poomageddon is actually a blessing in disguise. No, seriously. Not only are we decluttering, but we have found a new metric to help us get rid of our stuff. We call it the Would We Try to Save It If the Cats Shit On It Metric. I'm going to package this bit of brilliance up and sell it as an e-book.
In the future, I think we're going to have a lot less stuff. And maybe less cats.
Anybody want a cat or three?
PS. Don't worry. The cats are fine. They're back to eating their normal food, drinking lots of water, and playing and fighting as though they haven't firehosed poo onto every soft surface.
PPS. My cats: now more comfortable with being horrific than ever before. Yippee.
PPPS. I just saw semi-lumpy poo! This is the most disgusting piece of hope I've ever panned in a slotted shovel.