Once you get a cat, the cat starts destroying your things — typically your fears and your furniture. This is what my cat has destroyed.
The first rip was the hardest. I got in close — hmm, maybe I can cut the thread? What I should have been doing was monitoring the back of the chair, which had been in play for months and resembled what you might see in a haunted house. Eventually you have to gift certain pieces to the cat, hoping that other pieces can remain unscathed. This will go on until you have no pieces unscathed.
We’re down to one chair.
Cleaning up vomit used to make me squeamish, but now it’s just Wednesday. Sometimes I’ll crouch down and really look at the vomit to see whether there’s any reason the vomit is there other than the gall of me trying to serve cat Fancy Feast Grilled Chicken instead of Fancy Feast Gravy Lovers Chicken Feast because the store was out, Cat!
To most people, a slug of slimy hair covered in digestive juices, brought forth with end-of-the-world hacking onto the hardwoods, is something to call an exterminator for. But hairballs are nothing. I might even field a hairball barehanded on my way out the door, tossing it into the flowerbed while whistling a schizophrenic tune. I don’t really do this.
Sounds gross, huh? I used to think so, too. Now I get down close to the poop footprints to try and determine the direction and relative thickness. Because I know that one, two, and three poop footprints means 10, 20, and 30 more of them winding throughout the house, and you must follow them with a bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels. The poop footprints I typically discover often go from in front of the litter box — usually containing the chunk of wayward poop that caused this party in the first place — to food bowl (where the poop footprints look forlorn, because there is no food) to the window and finally to the couch, where the cat has just finished eating the remaining poop from her foot.
I know this is all disgusting.
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