Everything is catawampus at our house.
And the catalyst for this cataclysm is my cat.
You’re in for a story that may illicit a few catty remarks, such as “Hey! Were you catatonic?” or “Do you have cataracts?” And they would be well-deserved.
Evidently, my tuxedo cat, Oreo, has been peeved ever since a feline visitor was a guest at our house. As one might expect, Tigee had made himself at home. But what I didn’t know was that he had left his calling card in Oreo’s cat box, instead of using his own litter pan.
Cats don’t like that. Cats like to take revenge.
Categorically, it was Tigee’s fault. But Tigee went home. Next in line to blame was me.
So, catty-cornered to the sofa and next to the grandfather clock, Oreo staked out her territory — daily.
She waited. She hydrated. She waited.
Finally, enough clues had been leaked. My caterwaul reached her ears. Mission accomplished.
Raising a big stink may make her purr, but ever since I discovered this catastrophe, I’ve felt like catapulting this feline out the front door. If I were Catholic, I’d need to go to confession for what I’ve been thinking.
Actually, there’s been extensive time on my knees.
I’ve pulled back the carpet, cut out the pad, and then drenched the subfloor and floor covering in Nature’s Miracle.
So far there hasn’t been one, but the instructions on the cleaning product say it takes two weeks.
So while I simmer and wait for a miracle, maybe a catnap will help, too.