tale of a pooful townhouse

I went shopping after work tonight, and when I got home and came in with my first load of bags, I noticed that it smelled like poo in the house. I thought maybe I’d stepped in dog poo somewhere and so I checked my shoes, but they were clean. And that’s about when I noticed the first poo in the middle of the living room floor.

I say “first poo” because it turns out there was poop in every.single.room of my house, and in all the non-room locations as well. Poo in the living room. Poo in the kitchen. Poo in the hallway. Poo on the stairs. Poo on the landing. Poo in the guest room. Poo in my bedroom. Poo in both bathrooms. Oh, and poo ON THE DAMN QUILT ON MY BED. Through some absolute miracle, there was no poo on my new furniture downstairs.

Did you catch the part where there was a lot of poop? It looked like Mr. Hanky was spreading Christmas cheer at my house in my absence. It was a horrible, stinky horror show, and officially the first time I’ve ever wondered what the hell I was thinking when I decided to get cats.

As it turns out, Marco’s sick with something. I am 99% sure that he just couldn’t control himself. Currently he’s closed in the downstairs bathroom with some water and white rice, and he’ll stay there until morning when I assess the situation and decide whether or not to call the vet. His ears and nose are hot and he’s really upset about being confined, but other than that he doesn’t seem to feel bad. I’ve gone in to visit him a few times and he purrs like a motorboat and tries to climb me. I think he is thinking that if he loves me hard enough I’ll let him out. He certainly isn’t having any problems with his voice, as I’ve been listening to him cry for a few hours now.

It took me two hours with a scrub brush and some Oxi-Clean to get all the poo spots up, and I’m thinking I may need to clean all the carpets just because. My bedding is still in the wash and I can’t go to bed ’till it’s dry. I was out spending most of my paycheck on groceries and clothes and Christmas presents before coming home to the poofest, so I’m hoping Marco’s not expensively ill. In a best case scenario he’ll make it through the night without any accidents and I’ll keep him on rice for the next 24 hours and he’ll be fine.

I was planning to write about my new hair stylist tonight but my appointment got rescheduled, so now you get a tale of a pooful townhouse instead. Aren’t you lucky?

6 Replies to “tale of a pooful townhouse”

  1. Maybe he’s not sick.. Maybe it’s revenge poo. He could be pissed about something. This is only reason 5 on a list of close to a million reasons why I don’t now, and probably never will have pets again – until they invent the pet that I don’t have to feed/clean up after/take to the vet and that won’t destroy anything I own. And if that never happens, I’m cool with that too. My wooden ducks love my just fine.

  2. I usually come home to a pukefest. In fact I did last night. However, I neglected to do a barf-sweep, as I normally do when arriving home from work. We went right into the kitchen and started cooking dinner. There was some dry crumbled up puke on the carpet under the dining room table – found with Ray’s bare foot while eating. He freaked out, mildly.

    Then, he went upstairs and exercised his thumbs on the Playstation. After about an hour and a half he got up to go to the bathroom and discovered to his absolute horror that he had been sitting on top of a pile of puke. He freaked out, completely.

  3. Ooo! Did Ray do his Sissy Dance? He did that once when there was a spider on him. It was a very patient, playful spin while his limp-wristed hands brushed at him and he said, “Sissy Dance, Sissy Dance….”

  4. Awwww, poor Marco. I hope he’s feeling better!

    And like Lollie up there I come home to random spots of puke as well. I do think “under the dining room table” is a must on their list of puke locations. And of course, puking on tiled floor is WAY out of the question.

  5. cats don’t do revenge poo. that means they’re terribly sick. what happened??? is he okay?

    and yeah, i don’t understand why they can’t puke on the hardwood or tile floor. i’ve literally seen flan move from being on empty floor to a carpet or a pile of my clothes.

    maybe it’s just more comforting to be on something soft?

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