It takes a special person to love a cat

I am not that special.

Kim’s good friend “Doodi” as Casey calls her went out of town for the holidays.  Since this was going to be our first Solstice/Christmas season that we were going to stay home as a family, Kim volunteered to take care of Doodi’s house, which included bringing in her mail, monitoring the heat, watering the plants, and taking care of the [insert epithet] creatures that we humans call cats. 

But when my dad became unexpectedly ill, we decided to haul the holidays to Roosevelt and this posed a problem with the commitment that Kim made to Doodi.  Kim called Doodi to explain the predicament and Doodi told Kim about a self-feeder that Kim could rig up and that her poor babies would have to go without wet food for a few days, but certainly would be okay.  

Thinking the problem was solved, Kim joined us in Roosevelt on the 24th and we spent the next 5 days there.  The kids were hyper with sugar and presents, my dad was in the hospital (he’s fine now), and my sister was trying to manage 18 people in her house, but all my wife could think about were those [insert epithet] cats.

The first thing we did when we arrived back into the city was go and check on the cats.

We entered the apartment to a stench that reminded me of the smell of my mother’s sister.  I know this isn’t nice to say, definitely not in a public forum, but my aunt (I use that term loosely) is not the best smelling person.  Several years ago while I was doing errands with my mom, she saw her sister walking around town.  My mom stopped to ask if she needed a ride.  She did.  I spent the next 10 minutes trying not to vomit, the next 15 minutes scrubbing the filth off of me in the shower, and the next hour trying to get the smell out of my mom’s upholstery with open windows, a can of lysol, and faith that what took 10 minutes to develop had to be cleared in the next hour.  Now that I have revealed myself to be the asshole that I am, I want to clear things up and say that while poverty does stink, it takes a special king of disdain for one’s self to acquire the kind of smell I’m talking about.  Ouch.  There’s no clearing it up.  I’m just an asshole.

Anyway, the asshole entered the apartment with the wife and kiddies and drama ensued.

I stuck my head into my shirt and started counting to ten in hopes of taking control of my oh so privileged self and not yacking my no-pets attitude right up with the cheeseburger I had consumed.   Riley simultaneously started sneezing and dry heaving.  Thankfully (I can’t believe I began this sentence with “thankfully”) he had already lost his lunch in Parley’s Canyon on the twisty drive back to the valley.  Trouble (the cat) let out a growl/purr/squeak/undefinable moan sound and hauled herself to Doodi’s bedroom and under the bed.  Mercy (the other cat) rubbed herself right up to the boys and started purring.  Casey stepped back in surprise and landed right into what we later learned was dried cat vomit and we all squealed at the information.  Kim hollered at us all to “GET IT UNDER CONTROL BECAUSE YOU AREN’T HELPING!”

I was given the option of feeding the cats wet-food which I knew from past experience was the smell of vomit and liver in a can, cleaning out the 6 day old litter box, or scrubbing the floor and the child from the step-in-vomit incident.  I insisted that I MADE NO COMMITMENT to take care of cats and that I would sit on the couch with the children and feel sorry for myself for having to be there in the first place.  In my defense, I did take off the vomit-shoes of my toddler before parading through the apartment.

Only on the way to the couch I found another two piles of cat-vomit and the smell of the apartment suddenly revealed itself to be the gluttony of cats with a self-feeder at their disposal.  

Casey sat on one side of the couch snuggling with Mercy and eating his candy necklace that the Santa-Mommies put in his stocking.  Riley hung out in the bathroom gagging and hollering that “cats smell worse than Casey’s diaper.”  Kim got to work scrubbing, emptying, and feeding.  I sat on the other side of the couch and didn’t lift a finger to help.  As I sat there, I knew that I was being a total jerk, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else.  Finally, in an effort to redeem myself, I checked the mail.

A half-hour later we got home.  As I picked Casey up out of his car seat I noticed that there were scads of cat hair that had attached itself to the already wet and slobbery candy necklace hanging around Casey’s neck.  I also noticed that Casey’s wet and slobbery hands held a few tufts of hair as well.  Riley’s eyes were bloodshot; he was already obsessively scratching off his skin like he was flea infested, and the kid couldn’t stop sneezing.  Lets’ just say that the asshole entered the house with the wife and kiddies and drama ensued. 


7 Responses to “It takes a special person to love a cat”

  1. Kelly Says:

    when cats are left without “parental supervision”… drama ensues…

    all that yakk… probably happened within the first 24 hours of them realizing that they were not going to get their wet food.

    cats rebel. its what they do best, besides being the sketchy creatures that they are…

    if i dont feed our beasts their wet food by 530, i get about 6 claws to the groin and the look; the look of “i know where you sleep, and i have no problems killing you when i find you in that vulnerable position.”

    and we have 2 cats…

    im trying to train them to stop sh1tting.

  2. the other Says:

    [insert epithet] cats!
    and I too am an asshole. If you know you’ll have to sterilize your vehicle after giving someone a ride in it, you should think twice (and then keep driving). Plus the small town “auntie” lives in is only, at the most, a mile away from anything. Hmm, You think with all that walking her ass would be smaller.
    See Ruth, your not near as evil as me.

  3. Carrie Says:

    It’s not that it takes a special person to love a cat….it’s that cats LOVE special people (so they left you presents!)

  4. Sedalb Says:

    Not to brag, but Powder and Oreo did just fine for the five days we left them alone. No messes, no stench, nothing. Okay, maybe I am bragging 🙂

  5. Chicory Says:

    hey, thanks! this story completely took away my appetite! meaning that the green juice I had for breakfast is now completely enough for me!

  6. Doug Says:

    i only count 17

  7. Ruth Says:

    No Doug – remember Dad was in the hospital. The extra 2 were Fred and Robin.

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