I think I've lost my will to live.
It started out a shithole week and hasn't gotten better.
Thanks to a nasty running injury, I now walk with a limp and wear orthopedic shoe inserts. Which does wonders for my self esteem age issues.
I tore open the heel of my good foot being strong willed (not stubborn) and thinking I could carry a child, excersaucer and a beer out the back door. I couldn't.
And yet, this is not the worst of what has occurred this week.
I've made some bad decisions in my day. Oddly, I don't think choosing to wear a red polka dotted dress to my grandmother's anniversary party was one of them. Shoulder pad inserts. Now, that was a bad choice. Putting shoulder pads on a gangly pre-teen only makes one look like an anorexic football player with braces and a perm.
Two years ago, I got us a kitten.
Two days ago, he shit on our living room floor.
I thought it was LB's diaper....careful inspection told me otherwise. It's nice knowing I could have a back up career in private investigation...it only took me twenty minutes and almost stepping in it to figure it out.
Later that night, I smelled a sour pee smell.
Once again, I thought it was LB.
Even my mom mentioned it.
Eh, a hot bath and a change of clothes will fix that right up.
Inspector Clouseau right here.
Four hours later, after sitting on the couch for an hour, I smelled it again.
I think it's me...so I smell my feet, ears (don't ask, it ain't easy), pits. For the love of GOD, I was going crazy.
So I complained about it to Kevin.
We start smelling the cushions on the couch.
Low and behold...three of our cushions are covered in cat piss. C.O.V.E.R.E.D. Soaked. I got a sock wet in the process. (Again, don't ask...why I put my foot there I'll never know)
I did not take this opportunity to remind Kevin of my infinite wisdom in purchasing a front loading washer with a sanitize setting. I was carefully considering my options in milking this for a new couch.
That. Very. Night. While I'm laying in bed. I hear a cat vomiting downstairs and wonder what the jail term is for cat strangulation. Could he "accidentally" get out and never be seen again? (After I drive him across town and into a junk yard guarded by two hungry rottweilers and a doberman or maybe just a few neighborhoods over where I know a great dane who likes to play 'rough' with cats.)
The problem is, Kevin loves this cat. And I love Kevin. But, I kind of love my sanity too.
The NEXT night. I'm sitting on the one remaining cushion of our piss couch. And I smell it. The sour smell.
So, I did what you'd think I'd do.
I complained to Kevin.
He starts smelling, I start smelling...(not myself this time, I learned that lesson) and we can't find it. I'm convinced we are getting a new couch. I get up and move to the chair and that is when Kevin tells me I was sitting in cat vomit. SITTING IN CAT VOMIT.
There are no remaining cushions on our piss couch.
Did you know you can buy replacement cushions for your couch online?
According to Kevin it's cheaper than buying a new couch.
But is it cheaper than hiring a lawyer for my cat murder trial?
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