Wednesday, February 07, 2007

The Game of Life

People...people..what has the world come to? Express is now advertising, on their front page, a mini-dress that you can 'wear over jeans, wear over leggings --", hold the phone here.. did they just suggest, nay, twice over condone and encourage the wearing of mini-dresses OVER LEG-COVERING-type garments? Call me old-fashioned, but as I recall, wearing baby-doll shirts (mini dresses circa 2007 = baby-doll shirt, circa 1991) over pants, leggings, etc looks completely absurd and ridiculous unless you are a) ages 11-16 and rail-thin b) rail-thin c) pregnant, and thereby granted diplomatic immunity from poor wardrobe choices. Please note that I am not saying that Express is my fashion barometer. I don't have a fashion barometer, probably more like a fashion fuel indicator that turns bright red at the sight of things like dress shorts and denim bloomers. The rest of the time, it pretty much hums along, blithely ignoring straight-leg pants and all the eighties-revisited crap that gives me hives. I have no point here, but I'd just like to draw your attention to that little nugget of truth.

Speaking of nuggets and general
unpleasantness - since all the cool kids are doing it - did I tell you about Sunday? It was just the six of us (Christie and her family, plus us) and the cats. Very little watching of the actual game was done, although we did pay special attention to the commercials and that wee man on the half-time show. Sadly, I got hit by an intense lightning bolt of a headache right at the time we should have been kid-proofing and cleaning up. This necessitated some serious last-minute scrambling had to be done in order for humans under four feet tall to safely enter our domicile. (Why yes, we do keep a bunch of very sharp knives in the house - right along with our collection of chainsaws and the exquisite set of antique torture tools, naturally. All in good order.)

In our hasty removal of all that was deemed unsuitable and re-arranging of the furniture**, we discovered two lovely areas of fresh, liquidy cat hork. Someone had thoughtfully deposited it not on, but
under the little rug I put in front of their box, and also left us another little treasure under a chair. I swabbed everything up (because that's what I do: poo and throw-up seem to be my Special Departments.) and didn't think much about it - cats do this. They seem to like to throw up at exactly the time and place that is the absolute worst for we, their humble keepers and scoopers of the poo.
**Items that may or may not have been found under the couch we never sit on: Lost treaure of the Sierra Madre, approximately fifty corks we toss for the cats to chase, Jimmy Hoffa, sudden resolve to put large industrial casters on all furniture to enable easier cleaning of said area.

Our little group gathered around the flickering light of the television with our drinks, so many savages perched round the fire, waiting for a drama to unfold before us. I lasted about three minutes before I jumped up to start dinner (official excuse) so that I wasn't bored out of my skull (actual reason) with all the grunting and running and officiating. Fynn and Edie had retreated to our closet to console each other about all the g.d. noise that The People were making. Sometime into the third quarter, the kids were playing SpongeBob Life on my bed - I'd just tucked into my taco and was savoring the healing sting of Newcastle on the back of my throat, when Chad rushed into the living room.

"Ummm....Maya, there's something brown on your bed."
Oh hell no. Just let me enjoy this, please, I haven't eaten all day long.
"Did you spill something, Chad? It's ok if you did, I just need to know what it is"
"Nooo....it's something brOWn, though...maybe it's peanut butter?"
(Please let it be peant butter....please)
"Were you eating peanut butter?"
"No."
(#*@#_!!!)
"Ok, hang on and I'll come in there and see what it is."

The Horker (I've made up a word AND blatantly bandied about non sequitors, how d'ya like me now?) had struck again. This time, it was on my freshly changed duvet cover (Ikea, cute but not expensive, thanks for asking) and a couple of little pillows. The pillows appeared to be delicately wading in the puddle of re-re-reconstituted duck/lamb/mystery meat that we pay entirely too much to feed the little buggers. SpongeBob Life and all its' accoutrements were hastily relocated, the bed was stripped, spot-cleaned and taken out to the wash, and we went back to watching K-Fed peddle life insurance. The Horker did not make another appearance until the following day, and it was on the hardwood floors, so I forgive him. Plus...with a face that cute, who wouldn't forgive these guys for the occasional gack episode? As I steeled my stomach, gathered my cleaning products and knelt down for the umpteenth time, I thought to myself, "I've finally found an occasion to wear a mini-dress and leggings for - cleaning up cat barf!" The end, however, had not come yet. Guess who left me a little chocolate chip of poo on the bedspread that I replaced the soiled one with? And did I mention that as soon as I thought I was safe from cat-nastiness, Scott cut a huge 'mouth' in the meat of his hand on one of the above mentioned not-safe-for-humans knives and bled all over the gorgeous (white, of course) sheets my mom bought me? THROUGH THE BANDAGES? And DIDN'T NOTICE?

I'm switching the cats to only dry food. We'll be gone for a few days (dentist yet again, Ikea for some home/office things we desperately need, maybe we'll sneak into Disneyland for a quick ride or two) but in the meantime... Can someone tell me why I, the one with the oh-so-very-sensitive nose, gets the dubious honor of ALWAYS CLEANING UP BODILY MATTER? PLEASE, I need answers. And bleach. For my soul.

10 comments:

girl and dog said...

Pets should come with warning labels and a complimentary bottle of bleach.

My dog loves to lick herself (she's part cat) and then throws up gigantic hairballs in the middle of the night. She makes the most dramatic heaving noises and Mr. T always wakes up in a cold sweat, saying: "Your dog is dying!!"

No, she's just throwing up, now go back to sleep. *sigh* At least your cats poop in a litter box...I'm considering buying stock in the pooper scooper company.

Maya said...

True. They've never missed the box, thank goodness. However sometimes (I don't know why) they poo in the middle of the night and I swear it WAKES ME UP from two rooms away. The stench, she is powerful.) They always look embarassed after I catch them horking- its cute and pitiful. Poor little bodies. Wait till I figure out how to hook up the video from my new phone to the computer and show you Edie's new trick~

Get this: She rolls over when we tell her 'show me your tummy!" So. d*** cute, it's painful.

Ciarra said...

Our boy cat is awesome. He learned how to use the doggie door all on his own, so voila! No litter box! I think he must go in the garden but I never find it. I've also never found cat hork. Chloe the Dalmatian is the only one who ever horks: she regularly eats grass and horks it out in the yard or on the patio. Plus the time she went under general anesthesia to get fixed and then vomitted huge quantities TWICE in our house, poor thing. But that's not all that bad, so I'm not complaining.

Maya said...

I wish I had the outside poo option, but Edie would have cancer and they'd probably both be run over and/or eaten by coyotes.

Lindsay said...

the Fatty Bubba only eats dry food...and i only have to change the litter box

Jenn said...

Cat hork! Hork! How have I lived (especially in our house) without that word for so long?

Priceless. Hork hork hork.

P.S. Thank you for the kind cool kid description. I don't feel very cool, especially with dog hork and gymnast hork under my nails, but bless you anyway.

Bones said...

Omigosh! You can write! Most bloggers chew their thoughts and burp (or I suppose poo would be more appropriate after reading your blog) them out im some mangled attempt at communicating in english.

You could write about the phone book and I'd read it.

the sightspeed guy said...

you'll need more than bleach to sanitize your soul, young missy :) glad to see you got the new blogger working. alas, i was not so fortunate...

komxwh

My name is Heather said...

With all the cat horking, we're forgetting about the whole discussion of "leggings". I mean helloooooo.........for those of us who lived in the 80's.........are we not freaking out a bit?

chiefbiscuit said...

I like the word chunder too for hork. Is chunder a kiwi expression only or indeed international? (Technicolour yawn is another expression - but maybe that's more human than feline ... And I agree re the leggings-over-mini comment - esp for my short fat legs.