“You should probably move that,” I said to LSB, gesturing to a cardboard box, into which I’d popped recently ironed shirts. Both laundry baskets were out of action. Once filled with washed clothes waiting to be put away, other miscellaneous items had been piled on top, rendering them what I like to call, a cluster f**k of chaos. That phrase could be short-hand for my home in general now, and I was never Betty Crocker to begin this. 90% of my time has been redeployed to mopping up cat wee, which is why I wanted LSB to deal with the box, as I was late for work. Did he lift the box? No. Did the kittens pee over LSB’s summer wardrobe? That would be a hard yes, and I think they enjoyed it too.
So far they have urinated in my trainers, my slippers, (oh, how I love the feeling of a piss-saturated sock) and extensively over floors. Rufus, the ginger monster, particularly favours a cushioned chair in a beautiful shade of teal. We upgraded to upholstered furniture at the breakfast bar when the children were no longer spilling and dribbling their food, although I’d be lying if I said spaghetti isn’t still slopped over a myriad of surfaces.
And yes, of course we’ve bought ALL the anti-odour, pee-away, super-duper cleaner-upper sprays, but this hot weather seems to rekindle a stench, every time I think I’ve eradicated it.
“You needn’t be guerning about it to me,” said The Mothership, when I rang up, hoping for sympathy. “I don’t know why you bring trouble upon yourself,” she went on, “as if you haven’t enough to be doing. If I’d been kept informed about this plan, I’d have counselled against it.”
Well, that was me told. It’s worth adding however, that she expects regular updates and photographic evidence of the kittens’ well-being, and these pictures have been distributed far and wide. They have been admired by her friends in Coleraine, Spain and most recently Canada. I envy these people, who can ‘ooh and ahh’ over the little creatures, without living with the reality of the situation, i.e. living with the prickle of ammonia in their nostrils.
What would really improve the situation, would be if our teenage daughters, who pressed so hard to get the kittens, would rouse themselves before noon and set to with a scrubbing brush. An unlikely occurrence, to say the least. But what they lack in toileting abilities (the cats not the kids) they make up for in cuteness and they are already champions in purring, which makes me feel that I am, at least, getting something right.
