The Catbox (These Beasts Be Bitches!)

The word "bitch" is the actual, official, and perfectly acceptable term for a canine of the female variety. My dog, Brandi, in no uncertain terms is 100%... a bitch. However, when used in the more profane and offensive version, the term also perfectly applies to my cat.

I only got up for a second!
Kitty napping in my kitchen/computer chair

We've had her for eight years, and I guess it's time for me to let her grow up. She's small but she's no Spring Kitten anymore. I don't know when it happened, but at some point recently, she lost her sweet little daintiness. I mean, the beast pees like a horse! Gone is the time when the catbox could ride three or four days before becoming an issue. But like Dylan said "The times, they are a'changin" and Kitty has no problem humming me a few bars every now and then.

It all starts with me telling you about my new favorite brand of kitty litter that totally kicks ass! You just never know how much clump action you need, until you experience the best of what clump action has to offer. The wet stuff clumps solid and stays solid. It doesn't fall apart during cleanup, the clump takes it all, leaving the remaining litter fresh. (Notice I didn't name the brand. I don't know why I didn't mention it at the time of the original writing. At the time of this edit, I just, quite frankly, don't even remember anymore.)

Here's where we fall into trouble. Kitty squats as close to the side of the box as felinely possible, and don't forget, she pees like a horse. After about three potty breaks, the sandy litter around the edges has morphed into rock. There's little place left to scratch and dig, and if Kitty can't scratch and dig, then

... there is something definitely wrong here, Lady. This ship is goin' down... it's every animal for herself ...

She will protest this assault by leaving her next puddle on the floor directly in front of the human toilet. Hey, you have a place to pee, I need a place to pee. It usually gets discovered by a groggy human first thing in the morning, who is totally unprepared for the sopping, the mopping, the disinfecting, and the possibility of having to take down and wash the curtain, that divides the bathroom from the laundry closet. That's why the first morning's human usually just covers the puddle with a wad of paper towels so that the unsuspecting groggy Mama doesn't step in it.

I have to admit, there are times when none of us humans are motivated to clean the box right away, after such a subtle hint. When that happens, she could do one of two things. She could repeat the procedure, or she could escalate to something a little more passive aggressive. She'll drop her next puddle in a place where it simply cannot be ignored... under my kitchen chair, where I sit with my laptop. Okay... Enough! Message received!

The Catbox Buffet is Closed For Business

At least we finally found a way to keep the other beast from dining in the Catbox Buffet. First we push the catbox all the way to the back corner of the closet. Then we prop the ironing board against the washing machine and lean it toward the closet wall. This creates a canopy, preventing the dog from just hopping over the large Coleman lunch cooler that we shove in front of the catbox. It must be wedged between the washing machine and the wall, preventing the pooch from just diving in head first.

It's Not So Simple

Cleaning the catbox isn't quite as simple as, well, just cleaning the catbox. It begins with disassembling the canine prevention contraption previously described. Also, whenever the box is pulled out, we use that valuable opportunity to sweep up all the litter that Kitty has kicked out onto the floor. It's everywhere; under and behind the dryer, behind our five gallon paint can collection. And hec, since we're sweeping, might as well just sweep the whole bathroom. ("one job leads to another yeah, yeah, yeah")

The scooped up clumps (and such) go into the trash can, which of course, has to be taken out right away. Then we have to get the vacuum and suck up all the stuff that we just swept. Where's the vacuum? The Princess, assuredly, left it upstairs again. Uuuugh!! Once the task is complete, the canine prevention contraption is reconstructed.

It's a tedious process that is often avoided until the need is crucial.

Holy Irony, Batman! As I sit here typing, Kitty has just puddled on the bathroom floor again! But I just cleaned the box last night! That could only mean one thing...

This is a food protest.

Have you read The Food Protest (These Beasts Be Bitches)?

Mama's Monday Morning Gripe

It's Monday, again.  I hate Monday.

When I was a kid, Monday was Mom's big cleaning day, and I'm still getting over it.  Bad memories of feather dusters, scrub brushes, and buckets of sudsy water.  They keep me up at night.  Mostly Sunday nights.  Man, old habits never die, do they?  Since the common areas of the house are cleaned and straightened throughout the week, Monday has become my habitual cleaning day.  Well, bathrooms and laundry anyway.  I'm developing a new habit, though.  Instead of disinfecting the bathrooms on Monday, I've been accidentally cleaning the kitchen.  It's totally an accident.  

You see, my circus clowns are oblivious to their surroundings, and their bathroom habits are downright disgusting.  Hubsy shaves and the whiskers cling in a circle around the sink, glued on by dried shaving cream, or soap.  The counter or floor is often dotted with the sprinkling of various facial and body powders.  The downstairs wash room has seen feces on the wall, boogers on the table, and a dead roach that no one would touch for days! 

The bathroom designated for my offspring consistently looks like an episode of Hoarders.  There is a small collection of empty shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles in the shower.  There are empty cardboard paper rolls, rolling around on the floor.  The contents of the wastebasket have been spilling out for over for a week, and they just keep piling more stuff on top.  At least they knew enough to use clean towels, which have been draped across the shower curtain rod, although two or three of the old ones are dangling stiffly from the towel bar.  Still. 

So, bathrooms, and the cleaning and disinfecting of them is definitely my main Monday Morning Gripe.  On the up side, laundry day has become an institution, however.  Come Monday... Come rain, come shine, come hell, or high water, by God, that laundry will be done (on earth as it is in Heaven).  In fact, when I spent a day babysitting a friend's toddlers, I took my loads along!  It was laundry day, dammit!  Luckily, my loads have diminished since I gave the high command for the girls to start being responsible for their own clean clothes.  The Boy has been doing his own for years.  The time I save by not doing their laundry, can now be spent reminding and nagging them to do it.  It's brilliant.