A number of years ago, this would have been the day I would wish stepmom number one "a very happy birthday," but she passed away a few years back so we don't do that any more. Oddly, I feel more sadness about that than I do about not being able to wish my dad a happy birthday.
Oh, it's not because he too has passed, but because he chooses to not recognise me as his daughter. Consequently, I don't have a father to send cards to and mark holidays and milestones with any longer.
His choice.
His loss.
I do believe I have a new friend or two celebrating a birthday today, so I will instead focus my thoughts and best wishes in their direction - that oughtta fill the void.
And if that doesn't work, I can always keep cleaning. The cats have seen fit this morning to keep my day full of activity and mess. God bless 'em. It began with Flop spewing upstairs. I was awakened by the undeniable gurking sounds of a feline making hairball pudding.
After cleaning mess one; parts one and two, I was reminded that feeding was the next order of the day - and why hadn't I gotten to it, yet? Loud insistent meowing (Hobbes-style - she knows one word) drove me to the kitchen, where cat food was distributed to the hungry throng.
Having completed that chore, I followed my 'downstairs nose' to the cat box. Someone had tinkled over the edge (per usual, at least one time per week), and most of a bladderful load of urine sat precariously in the fold of the liner's edge. Deftly, I sopped up most of it with a paper towel before carefully rolling the bag liner up and over into itself, finding -- you guessed it....another bladder of pee on the other side!
This explained the odor that usually doesn't live in the house.
New liner installed and fresh litter in place, I felt disaster had been averted.
Walking away to wash my hands I was met by a sweetly curious Cleo, who was making her way quickly to the bathroom. I felt good about treating her to the first use of a fresh litter box. She had beaten the other two to first use privileges!
Mounting the stairs I heard a curious (and bone-chilling sound). I turned on my heals and rushed to see Cleo standing in the box but too close to the side, and she wasn't squatting to urinate. Yup. She was now a fuzzy fountain, shooting a healthy stream of endless cat pee over the edge and onto the dry floor!!!
Back to the drawing board and paper towel (and bleach). Apparently she had held her bladder since 1979, because there were flood level waters there to clean.
So....Happy Birthday to all of you June first-ers out there. You go have fun, I'll man the cat box for the day.
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