I just said goodnight to some impromptu visitors. When they arrived, I went down to fetch them as the building transponder is required all through the property for entry, and the first thing we were greeted with when we came in the door was the smell of…
REVENGE POO.
I’ve mentioned revenge poo before, probably in the same breath as revenge pee, and their non-revenge cousin, kitty vomit. Some days I get all three, but any combination thereof is atrocious at best and an embarrassing hassle at worst, especially when I have guests, and/or I think I’m finished the cleanup and there’s MORE, i.e., one following on the heels of the other.
Hugh was mad at me for not letting him roam out the front door. (I think.) There was a big party down the hall and he wanted to investigate.
Anyway, I’ll avoid being too graphic — this is a Canadian long weekend, after all, I’m sure you’d rather not envision such nastiness when you could be downing a perfectly fragrant wine in celebration of a non-workday tomorrow — but suffice to say Hugh let his backside speak of his displeasure with me. Right in front of the guests. Gross!!
(He relented for a while to let us watch the Victoria Day Weekend fireworks, which I had no idea about until the guests pointed westwards past the dining room! We couldn’t see the low ones, but we had a great view of the big splashy displays.)
Needless to say, one of the reasons I moved here was for the in-suite laundry! I threw his mat into the washing machine and didn’t have to spend waste so much time handwashing it in the bathtub and wringing it out like I did in the previous place. Every DAY, sometimes several times a day, I’d be hunched over the tub like a charwoman with my rubber gloves and bleach.
Ah, the joys of pet ownership. David, see what you’re missing?
But you know what? I’m a sucker.