bethtastic.com

Apparently, I haven’t.  Because when Brad brought it up in the comments, I was reminded that indeed I have not shared one of the most hilarious (and disturbing) moments of my life.  It was back in my old life.  Before kids.  When I had a full-time job.  And we just bought our first house.  And got a cat.  A beautiful, soft and friendly Bobcat.  Who was perplexed by using a litter box, because she had formerly been a farm cat.  Well the first 9 months of her life anyway.  She was also perplexed by stairs.  Because she had never seen them before.  Enough of the background information…let’s get on with the story.

We had only had Bobbie for two days, having picked her up on a Saturday, and I had returned home from school that late Monday afternoon in January of 2000.  I walked into our house to the smell, a very distinct smell, of cat poop.  Erm.  Have you ever smelled cat poop?  It’s breathtaking.  And not in a good way.

I was feeling really sorry for poor, Bobbie.  She was freaked out by her new surroundings.  She was lonely from a day by herself in the house.  She was having digestive issues as a result of being freaked out and lonely.  And she wasn’t so good at using a litter box.  Because it didn’t smell like the dirt she was used to.  So, she pooped on the basement bathroom rug (which, coincidentally, and thankfully, was a black rug in the Steelers bathroom, not white like our current basement bathroom).  And to her credit, she had tried in vain to cover the poop as cats will do, managing only to smash the rug up and spread the poop further on the rug.

Have I also mentioned before that I have an extremely acute olfactory sense?  I  get it from my Dad.  And I also have an extremely sensitive gag reflex.  It’s important to know that.

Anyway, I went downstairs to clean up the poop.  I knew it would be a difficult task given the aforementioned characteristics.  Bobbie was following me around, meowing pitifully in her distress.  I was almost crying because I felt so bad for her.  I was also getting a little lightheaded from the poop smell, but Harold worked even later hours back then than he does now, and cleaning up cat poop could not wait.

So.  I pulled my turtle neck up over my mouth and nose, armed myself with paper towels and carpet cleaner and headed into the 4 foot by 7 foot contained space with Bobbie at my heels.  Unfortunately, I had not accounted for the small space amplifying the already overwhelming smell.  And I gagged.  And then I gagged again.  And there was nothing I could do.  I barfed into my turtle neck.

And there is just about nothing worse than cleaning up cat poop.  Unless you also have to clean up barf inside your own shirt, running down your belly.  And resting inside your tucked-in shirt.

Yes.  Friends.  It really happened.

All because of this beauty (in her new favorite napping spot):

This entry was posted on Friday, February 19th, 2010 at 3:47 am and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.