Hot damn. Pass the Kleenex and hot tea, please, I am having an allergy attack from having dealt with cleaning out the closet that used to serve as Foster the Cat's condo. Yowza. But it's done, which means it's ready for our clothes when we move back into that bedroom.
Yes, folks, I'm making great strides in reclaiming the master bedroom. It'll be so great to settle in and get it decorated just the way we've talked about for months, red tube lighting and all. I've found so many great DIY ideas it's pathetic, and am so fired up it's ridiculous. But the next step, and there's no avoiding it, is fumigating that damned room. And why? Why might I have to do that, you ask?
Because it reeks of bad things, bad things that happened yesterday morning. Either Foster the Cat (you knew it, didn't you?) got the door to that room open, or Didgeridoo Boy left it just enough ajar after going in there to retrieve a component cable while trying to remedy his television's lightning woes. I was a little dismayed to find the door to the room open when I came downstairs yesterday morning, but just shut it, having not had my coffee yet and therefore not capable of considering the possibilities. I didn't even put kitty and cat together when I noticed Foster the Cat was roaming around in the hall that leads to the room.
Imagine my shock at finding the twin piles of turds while running the vacuum. I hopped up and down like a child having a tantrum. Swore. A lot. And then I took pictures, just in case Didge tried to say I was telling a fib. (He didn't.) Cleaned 'em up and took 'em to the trash. Got back to work. Kept smelling cat pee, and went on a sniffing mission. Turned out that smell was coming from a vintage swivel papasan - the cushion, to be exact. And the two rugs that were in the seat of it. As soon as I saw how they were all bunched up, I knew - that's the same thing she did to the bathroom rug the last time she peed all over the floor in there. The cushion? Ruined - soaked all the way through. The rugs? Dit-to-the-damned-hell-o, baby.
Have you ever rolled up a large, cat-pee-soaked cushion and forced it into a trash bag? I have. As of yesterday, in fact, I've done that very thing. Ahh, life's little firsts, how they enrich our lives and make us who we are. In addition, I have never taken a shower and changed clothes so quickly. And when I was taking the thing down the back steps to the trash can, the bag ripped - and I caught it in such a bear-hugging way that I wound up with that smell all over me AGAIN, so I got to practice what I'd learned about power showering and changing.
So, today's all about sneezing, fumigating that room with incense and whatever else I can get my hands on, and taking myself through many rounds of positive self-talk to help me recover from cat-pee-soaked-cushion trauma. Something damned well better give, and soon.
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