I used to love hardwood floors. Like, love them. I sincerely thought they were beautiful and every home should have them. My, how things have changed.
When I was apartment hunting for my big exodus to Philadelphia, I stepped into my soon-to-be new abode and instantaneously fell in love. I'm pretty sure I recall myself actually commenting immediately to my mother about the gorgeousness of the hardwood floors. Sure, they were a little old, in need of some repair, what with the gaps between the boards and all. But still! Sigh. I may have even batted my eyelashes at them. I love them that much.
On Moving Day, I remarked to a good friend about how excited I was to have hardwood floors. Considering that she had many square feet of the glorious flooring herself, I was certain to receive a supportive comment back. I mean, really, how could one have hardwood floors and not love them? I probably scoffed a little when she gave me the "just you wait" lecture, declaring that hardwood floors are really nothing short of a total pain in the butt, nearly impossible to keep clean, and the roadway to many'a'dustbunny tumbleweed afloating on by. Pashaw, I thought to myself. It couldn't possibly be that bad. My magic microfiber duster will take care of any tumbleweeds that go blowing through my house!..............right?
Wrong. Along with more dustbunnies that I care to even count, there's the cat liter that gets stuck in the cracks between floorboards. I could probably use my "magic" microfiber duster every 10 minutes and still not keep things clean. Oh, let me tell you. There's no getting rid of it. I could probably crawl on my hands and knees with a straw, sucking at said cat liter, and it wouldn't budge. Those little buggers get in there and get in there good. And its not just the dustbunnies and cracks. There is cat liter everywhere. All the time. I can vacuum the entire apartment and within 2.5 seconds, its covered again. I don't know how it happens. I only have 2 cats, but I swear to you, they multiply temporarily or have invisible demon twins or something. I'm not entirely sure how they do it, but they manage.
I'm considering tying miniature vacuums to their tails. If they're making the mess, they may as well clean up after themselves. And, since they both loathe vacuums, all the running around trying to escape would be sure to mean a much cleaner house for me!
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Monday, May 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Lessons on How to Turn a Bathroom into a Movie Scene
Its been shamefully long since I last wrote. I don't even want to look at when my last post was for fear of wanting to stab myself in the eyeballs out of disbelief. I realize that this would be a poor choice of reactions considering how eyeballs really do help in proofreading. I may have to think of another alternative.
Because I have nothing better to write about, I figure I shall regale you with a tragic comedy of my day 2 Saturdays past. February 20 started off as most Saturdays, with a bit of sleeping in and relaxing. Sadly, that was not to last long. 4 days prior I had dropped off my little monster at the vet to be declawed and deballed. Its a terrible way to phrase it, perhaps, but true. My little man went in to have his manhood taken away and entered the world of androgyny. I hear its all the rage now. I mean, seriously, who needs a gender? Its the 21st century! (ok, for all of you who don't know me well, that was sarcasm)
One of his paws had been giving him problems, so the vet had kept him an extra 2 whole days. Now, considering how much that little former man impedes on my sleep, one would think this a blessing. However, the mommy in me felt horrible that he was as the nasty wasty vet and not home with his mother. I take much better care of him than anyone else can, after all.
So, to shorten a long, and rather disgusting, story, upon our arrival home, dear mommy opened the crate to discover that the nose curling stench that she smelled on the way home was not the normal vet smell that she thought, but a doozie of a poop. That now covered half of the crate and most of the backend of the little former man. Sweet mother of God.
The next hour or so was spent corralling the little beast in the bathtub, attempting to clean him while trying to be very cautious of his little paws and his... area.... *ahem* It was quite dreadful, as one might imagine. After cleaning off most of the crap (literally, crap), I decided that it would be a good idea to take the cone off. Now, I had instructions from the vet to not take the cone off, because he was likely to go after his stitches. However, his poor back end was drenched. Mommy= -1.
Worst idea ever. For future reference, if your vet tells you to leave the collar on, for the love of God, leave it on. The little former man ripped a stitch. And bled, and bled, and bled. On attempting to stop the bleeding with slight pressure, which I know must have hurt, he managed to blow a stitch in the other paw from all the struggling. Which then also bled, and bled, and bled. For hours. Now, I'm not talking a little blood. I'm talking he would shake his paw and a spray of blood would cover the cabinets. It was like something straight out of a bad slasher movie.
I waited, I think a rather reasonable amount of time, before completely freaking out and taking him to the little former mancat doctor, also known as the emergency vet. Never in my life did I think I would be taking my animal to the emergency room. However, after seeing a bathtub covered in blood, it was just more than I could handle. Plus, there's only so much of that stuff in something as small as a cat. In the back of my head, I was pretty certain that he was going to bleed out and die or something. Yes, I realize that that may have been a bit of a dramatic reaction. But, seriously, think slasher movie. There was alot of blood.
Anyway, the little former man recovered from his plight and bleeding wounds. Mommy, on the other hand, suffered from emotional trauma for the next 5 days. I believe that I am on the road to recovery as well. Its entirely possible that I may need some serious counseling. There may never be another declawed cat in my future. Ever.
Because I have nothing better to write about, I figure I shall regale you with a tragic comedy of my day 2 Saturdays past. February 20 started off as most Saturdays, with a bit of sleeping in and relaxing. Sadly, that was not to last long. 4 days prior I had dropped off my little monster at the vet to be declawed and deballed. Its a terrible way to phrase it, perhaps, but true. My little man went in to have his manhood taken away and entered the world of androgyny. I hear its all the rage now. I mean, seriously, who needs a gender? Its the 21st century! (ok, for all of you who don't know me well, that was sarcasm)
One of his paws had been giving him problems, so the vet had kept him an extra 2 whole days. Now, considering how much that little former man impedes on my sleep, one would think this a blessing. However, the mommy in me felt horrible that he was as the nasty wasty vet and not home with his mother. I take much better care of him than anyone else can, after all.
So, to shorten a long, and rather disgusting, story, upon our arrival home, dear mommy opened the crate to discover that the nose curling stench that she smelled on the way home was not the normal vet smell that she thought, but a doozie of a poop. That now covered half of the crate and most of the backend of the little former man. Sweet mother of God.
The next hour or so was spent corralling the little beast in the bathtub, attempting to clean him while trying to be very cautious of his little paws and his... area.... *ahem* It was quite dreadful, as one might imagine. After cleaning off most of the crap (literally, crap), I decided that it would be a good idea to take the cone off. Now, I had instructions from the vet to not take the cone off, because he was likely to go after his stitches. However, his poor back end was drenched. Mommy= -1.
Worst idea ever. For future reference, if your vet tells you to leave the collar on, for the love of God, leave it on. The little former man ripped a stitch. And bled, and bled, and bled. On attempting to stop the bleeding with slight pressure, which I know must have hurt, he managed to blow a stitch in the other paw from all the struggling. Which then also bled, and bled, and bled. For hours. Now, I'm not talking a little blood. I'm talking he would shake his paw and a spray of blood would cover the cabinets. It was like something straight out of a bad slasher movie.
I waited, I think a rather reasonable amount of time, before completely freaking out and taking him to the little former mancat doctor, also known as the emergency vet. Never in my life did I think I would be taking my animal to the emergency room. However, after seeing a bathtub covered in blood, it was just more than I could handle. Plus, there's only so much of that stuff in something as small as a cat. In the back of my head, I was pretty certain that he was going to bleed out and die or something. Yes, I realize that that may have been a bit of a dramatic reaction. But, seriously, think slasher movie. There was alot of blood.
Anyway, the little former man recovered from his plight and bleeding wounds. Mommy, on the other hand, suffered from emotional trauma for the next 5 days. I believe that I am on the road to recovery as well. Its entirely possible that I may need some serious counseling. There may never be another declawed cat in my future. Ever.
Friday, October 9, 2009
How Oliver Found His Meow
I do believe that baby kitten meows are among the worst sounds in the world. My ears are currently bleeding from that very noise. Oliver has gotten somewhat better with his kitten-ness in terms of being calmer perhaps one half of one percent more often. This doesn't really equate to very much, but I'll take it.
His "growing up" also brought with it the maturation of a real live meow, rather than pathetic little squeak that use to emit from his little jaws. I actually felt bad for the poor sucker, what with not being able to really meow. I mean, isn't that part of being a cat? Its like the crowning glory of cathood, alot with a flowing tail. Considering I had one cat unable to meow, and another without a tail, things weren't looking so good in the household. Its rather tragic now that I think about it.
Well, silly me. Actually feeling sorry for the poor beast and his inability to meow. Whatever was I thinking? Clearly, I was not. About 2 weeks ago, Oliver found his meow. I rather wish he would loose it. Misplace it, perhaps. Even just forget he has it. Whatever the case may be, I would like it gone.
His naughtiness finds him locked out of the bedroom every night. He is not so much a fan of this situation. Being the pathetic little mancat that he is, he wants to snuggle and play with mommy at night when mommy is trying very hard to sleep. Mommy has to get up for work in the morning, unlike the little mancat. By the stroke of midnight, the little monster is oft romping around in the living room, being denied access to mommy's bedchambers. This was fine... until 2 weeks past.
The whole discovery of the meow has made the nightly ritual a bit more painful. Within 2 minutes of the door shutting, the meowing starts. And then continues... and continues. This typically last for at least 15 minutes. And then if I wake during the night, I hear it again. And then again in the morning. Its fun. Really. By fun, I mean its like raking screws across a chalkboard. Its enough to make one cringe. Not to mention the fact that I feel horrible because the poor little monster really just wants to snuggle and play with mommy.
I'm a mean, mean mommy.
His "growing up" also brought with it the maturation of a real live meow, rather than pathetic little squeak that use to emit from his little jaws. I actually felt bad for the poor sucker, what with not being able to really meow. I mean, isn't that part of being a cat? Its like the crowning glory of cathood, alot with a flowing tail. Considering I had one cat unable to meow, and another without a tail, things weren't looking so good in the household. Its rather tragic now that I think about it.
Well, silly me. Actually feeling sorry for the poor beast and his inability to meow. Whatever was I thinking? Clearly, I was not. About 2 weeks ago, Oliver found his meow. I rather wish he would loose it. Misplace it, perhaps. Even just forget he has it. Whatever the case may be, I would like it gone.
His naughtiness finds him locked out of the bedroom every night. He is not so much a fan of this situation. Being the pathetic little mancat that he is, he wants to snuggle and play with mommy at night when mommy is trying very hard to sleep. Mommy has to get up for work in the morning, unlike the little mancat. By the stroke of midnight, the little monster is oft romping around in the living room, being denied access to mommy's bedchambers. This was fine... until 2 weeks past.
The whole discovery of the meow has made the nightly ritual a bit more painful. Within 2 minutes of the door shutting, the meowing starts. And then continues... and continues. This typically last for at least 15 minutes. And then if I wake during the night, I hear it again. And then again in the morning. Its fun. Really. By fun, I mean its like raking screws across a chalkboard. Its enough to make one cringe. Not to mention the fact that I feel horrible because the poor little monster really just wants to snuggle and play with mommy.
I'm a mean, mean mommy.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Stop Chewing on Mommy's Cellphone
I imagine the things that you say as a pet owner, particularly of an infantile pet, are similar to the things that you say as a parent of a real, live human child. Things like "don't eat that", "stop licking the toilet", and "go ahead and put your nose in that hot cup of tea and see what happens." When I committed myself to this little ball of fur a few short months ago, I don't believe that I imagined the phrases that would shortly be emitting from my lips.
A few short months ago, I doubt that I would have believed you if you told me that I would currently have baby kitten teeth marks on my laptop. I may have giggled a bit if you told me that I would be worried about damage done to my cell phone from slobber. I most certainly would not have believed you if you said that this kitten would eat anything and everything, from ice cream, to potato chips, to grapes. To date, the only thing he has yet to try to eat or drink is wine. He goes to stick his little face in my glass and then backs up with his eyes half closed and his nose crinkled. Yes, in case you were wondering, kittens noses do crinkle. Now, my mother would tell you that he does that because he's smart and his instincts are telling him that wine is bad (hi, mom!), however I feel it has something to do with the tartness of the scent. Regardless, its rather amusing.
I have a grape currently rotting under some random piece of furniture of my apartment. I probably won't find it until it starts fermenting and the cockroaches that I'm sure exist in this house come out of the woodwork looking for their next meal. Cute little kitty will most likely find himself flung into the throes to fend off the evil beasts as punishment.
When Oliver first came into my life, someone said to me that perhaps this was a preparatory season for me, with the strong implication towards the future pitter patter of little feet. I admit, I am a bit sad that it is not ok to fling children across rooms onto beds (where they inevitably bounce and hit the wall. Not that I've done that with my kitten or anything...) I've come to learn that I do not have alot of patience for small things being constantly under foot and getting into simply everything. Did I mention that I left a bag of cat food out that last for about 3 minutes before it had 3 holes in it? Sigh.
This experience has made me seriously doubt my faculty at being a mother to real, live human children. If my patience is this low with something that I can lock up and ignore its cries for a while, how ever will a manage a household of screaming children that climb bookcases and spill cereal all over my newly vacuumed living room floor? I suppose that this is a preparatory season for me, regardless of if I ever have my own human children. My patience is being built up, even if I go kicking and screaming.
It is amusing to me the way that God chooses to teach us important lessons. My patience is being built up by a small cat. It is rather strange.
A few short months ago, I doubt that I would have believed you if you told me that I would currently have baby kitten teeth marks on my laptop. I may have giggled a bit if you told me that I would be worried about damage done to my cell phone from slobber. I most certainly would not have believed you if you said that this kitten would eat anything and everything, from ice cream, to potato chips, to grapes. To date, the only thing he has yet to try to eat or drink is wine. He goes to stick his little face in my glass and then backs up with his eyes half closed and his nose crinkled. Yes, in case you were wondering, kittens noses do crinkle. Now, my mother would tell you that he does that because he's smart and his instincts are telling him that wine is bad (hi, mom!), however I feel it has something to do with the tartness of the scent. Regardless, its rather amusing.
I have a grape currently rotting under some random piece of furniture of my apartment. I probably won't find it until it starts fermenting and the cockroaches that I'm sure exist in this house come out of the woodwork looking for their next meal. Cute little kitty will most likely find himself flung into the throes to fend off the evil beasts as punishment.
When Oliver first came into my life, someone said to me that perhaps this was a preparatory season for me, with the strong implication towards the future pitter patter of little feet. I admit, I am a bit sad that it is not ok to fling children across rooms onto beds (where they inevitably bounce and hit the wall. Not that I've done that with my kitten or anything...) I've come to learn that I do not have alot of patience for small things being constantly under foot and getting into simply everything. Did I mention that I left a bag of cat food out that last for about 3 minutes before it had 3 holes in it? Sigh.
This experience has made me seriously doubt my faculty at being a mother to real, live human children. If my patience is this low with something that I can lock up and ignore its cries for a while, how ever will a manage a household of screaming children that climb bookcases and spill cereal all over my newly vacuumed living room floor? I suppose that this is a preparatory season for me, regardless of if I ever have my own human children. My patience is being built up, even if I go kicking and screaming.
It is amusing to me the way that God chooses to teach us important lessons. My patience is being built up by a small cat. It is rather strange.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Kittens and Big, Nasty Angelfaces
Today, I did something very stupid. I allowed myself to get suckered into taking a stray kitten. One thing to know about me: I am a softie. To the enth degree. Mix that with my complex of trying to save the world, one child and kitten at a time.... I'm totally screwed.
This little delight showed up across the street from my parents house and was happened upon by neighbors. My youngest sister finds out, and the first thing she does? Go ahead and guess... She calls me. Her big old softie sister. Who can't say no to small children and animals. Especially poor helpless little kittens who were obviously dumped outside by their previous owners. Naturally, my soft heart melted into a rather large pool of butter, leaving me virtually helpless in resisting.
The little kitten found its way into my house today, much to the chagrin of Bella. Momma's sweet little angel face is non too happy about sharing her castle with another animal. After I finally coaxed her out from behind the living room curtains, there was an excessive amount of hissing and batting at her beloved mommy. Naturally, I just laughed. The poor cat was in shock that I would be so cruel as to bring another animal home that she would have to share me with. How could I think of doing such a thing? Clearly, it is unacceptable. To say that Bella is mad at me is an understatement. That found her locked in the bathroom for a while. I think she may have calmed down, but I'm sure that won't last too long. Especially after the baby has her vet appointment tomorrow and I can release her into the rest of my apartment, instead of being locked in my bedroom as she is now.
So, the nameless kitty is sure to upset the peace and harmony in my home for a while. All thanks to my big ol' softie heart. I'm really hoping not to regret this...
This little delight showed up across the street from my parents house and was happened upon by neighbors. My youngest sister finds out, and the first thing she does? Go ahead and guess... She calls me. Her big old softie sister. Who can't say no to small children and animals. Especially poor helpless little kittens who were obviously dumped outside by their previous owners. Naturally, my soft heart melted into a rather large pool of butter, leaving me virtually helpless in resisting.
The little kitten found its way into my house today, much to the chagrin of Bella. Momma's sweet little angel face is non too happy about sharing her castle with another animal. After I finally coaxed her out from behind the living room curtains, there was an excessive amount of hissing and batting at her beloved mommy. Naturally, I just laughed. The poor cat was in shock that I would be so cruel as to bring another animal home that she would have to share me with. How could I think of doing such a thing? Clearly, it is unacceptable. To say that Bella is mad at me is an understatement. That found her locked in the bathroom for a while. I think she may have calmed down, but I'm sure that won't last too long. Especially after the baby has her vet appointment tomorrow and I can release her into the rest of my apartment, instead of being locked in my bedroom as she is now.
So, the nameless kitty is sure to upset the peace and harmony in my home for a while. All thanks to my big ol' softie heart. I'm really hoping not to regret this...
