Oh, Berf, Ugh, Yuck

That sign? Should have a cat on it. Here's the grossest thing that's happened to me since I threw up on the M2 bus. I came home from work, opened the front door, to the two faces that await my arrival ... or at least the treats I bring. I came in, distributed treats and thought to myself, "Ugh, who farted?" It's usually Lou, and he's so good that if you look at him like, "Eww", he'll look back like, "Sorry". So, I did and he did. We went for a walk, came back and it STILL SMELLED LIKE A HUGE FART in my living room.

"Ho hum", says me. "We all have gas from time to time, and there was surely no Bean-No in the dog food bowl, so fart on, Lou." He sez: "That wasn't me." And, I'm like, "Oh, yeah it was, reach your nose around and smell that butt, baby."

But, IT WASN'T LOU!

That's him saying, "Yeah, you owe me an apology, biotch."

And, Lou was right! After the walk, I sat on the futon I like to call a couch, and started knitting more squares for the Aimee's the Bomb blanket I'm making for my sister. It's all pink and cream and yummy. Then, I got confirmation that my church-going, belief in the Lord was right on, because, something told me (I think it was the Lord, and I'm not kidding) to go see where Izzy was.

She was on my bed, sleeping ... with a big poop smear marking her arrival on the bed, and subsequent catting around (not in the sexual way) until she found the spot she wanted to lay her head. I spent THREE HOURS last night cleaning my bedroom and organizing the winter clothes, putting the winter comforter on the bed, etc. AND THERE WAS POO! ON MY CLEAN COMFORTER!

So, first I flip out and tell myself I'm way too delicate to clean poo off the ass of a cat. But then, I'm like, "Hold up, bitches. That was a clean, clean comforter that I took off early from work to launder. This must stop. I'm not a neat freak, but even I know this is wrong."

So, I decide the best thing to do is, of course, to bathe Izzy. Now, bathing a cat? It ranks right behind eating a bowl of glass on my list of things to do. But, it had to be done. It was a whore's bath, not a real bath, to be sure, but it was horrendous. There was a clump of poo on her butt that was the size of my head ... okay, no, the size of a Blistex, but it was still horrific, smellly, and potentially smeary. But, Izzy was so good. She was fighting me at first, but then I realized that the water in the tub was too hot, and that it probably made more sense to soak the poo off than to try and yank it off. (The head is always better than the gut in these things).

The day is over officially for me, and I have a half-bathed cat (because I wasn't about to try to put that angry puss's head in the water), a wrongly-accused pup, and me, all on the bed together, relatively clean and smelling kind of good. Yeesh.