I consider myself a responsible person, really I do. I openly admit, however, to actively avoiding certain items on my to-do list, because I’d rather be doing a dozen other things that are more fun or relaxing. One might surmise I’d feel a little guilt for shunning responsibilities in favor of lounging and lollygagging, but thanks to my cats, my neglectfulness feels downright justified.
Here are six of those chores I hate doing — and how my cats help me not do them!
Thanks to the patterns on my carpet and kitchen floor, dirt and dust are barely visible. This affords me the pleasure of pretending my floors don’t need cleaning. My barometer for knowing it’s time to sweep and Swiffer is when wearing shoes becomes a necessity because crumbs stick to my bare feet.
My cats are ever-so-helpful when it comes to helping me postpone a chore. It’s well-timed that when I’m ready to mop or vacuum, the kitties are stretched in a sun puddle, looking perfectly peaceful. Why in the world would I turn on a loud vacuum cleaner or move them? It’s much easier and more humane to wear shoes in the house.
I honestly don’t mind the act of placing clothes in the washer and then transferring them to the dryer — I will even enthusiastically unload them into a basket. Unfortunately, my ambition is all washed up moments after cleaning the lint trap.
Confession time: Sometimes clean, unfolded laundry sits in a basket for a week (sometimes longer ÔÇª shhh!). I simply do not enjoy folding laundry, and I would rather scoop a dozen poopy litter boxes than put my laundry away into drawers and closets.
Again, my cats must sense this aversion, because they often step in to assist me in my avoidance. No sooner do I plop the fresh basket of warmth on the floor than my three cats begin vying for the prize. Eventually, one of them nests atop my towels and tank tops, and there she’ll lie for hours. How could I possibly move that sweet baby? I’d be a complete monster.
I hate talking on the phone; I’m Caller ID’s biggest fan. I know sometimes a phone conversation is the best way to go, but for general communication, I prefer electronic or in-person methods.
Most times when I’m sitting, there’s a cat in my lap. I cherish these lap moments and only move kitties if it’s absolutely necessary … like if the smoke alarm is beeping or I desperately need a piece of chocolate. I’ll even bear a near-bursting bladder in exchange for kitty’s comfort. When the phone rings, I can easily legitimize my laziness in ignoring the call because I can’t move. Obviously.
I’m one of those people who believe that making a bed is a waste of time. I don’t entertain in the bedroom (please remove mind from gutter), so why would I care if the bed is made? I really only make the bed when I’m on a cleaning streak and want everything to look put-together. This is a rare occurrence, so my bed is usually a disheveled mess.
One of the cats is typically curled atop Mount Messybed, so any sort of bed-making is futile, anyway. I can’t imagine a tidy bed is more comfortable than a cushy, disorganized pile of sheets and blankets. Why would I jeopardize my cats’ comfort? That would be just plain mean.
The frigid Minnesota winters mean heat is perpetually blasting from the vents. One such vent is positioned directly below the kitchen sink. And right below the vent is a cozy throw rug, where Phoebe lies most days, absorbing the warm air into her fuzzy little belly.
She’s a skittish one and skedaddles when approached, so I tend to avoid the kitchen sink area, resulting in a pile of unwashed pots and pans. Lamentably, this only occurs during the winter months, so I have no excuse to escape dish duty during warmer times (though I’m sure I can think one up).
Sometimes, when I awake in the morning, Cosmo is snuggled near me and Phoebe is perched on my belly. Emerging from bed is last on my list of desires.
My goal is always to wake up fairly early, so there’s time to catch up on writing or fun stuff like paying bills, but cozy cats often arrest my ambition, and I lie in bed far longer than anticipated. When I finally do manage to peel myself away from my little bedbugs, very little time is left for anything productive. I’m sometimes lucky to sneak in a shower. Meanwhile, the cats remain resting, where they’ll stay all day … nestled on top of my unmade bed.
See? How can I be blamed for shirking any of these responsibilities? If I weren’t so busy looking out for my cats’ comfort and well-being, I’m certain I would have a tidy house and the most gorgeous, unwrinkled laundry. I also believe my calls would be answered in a proper manner, my bills would be paid on time, and I’d never be late for work. Some may call my cats enablers, but there’s nothing wrong with a little codependence now and again. I’d do the same for them.
How do your cats get in the way of you leading an organized life? Let us know in the comments!
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