Puke, Piss, and Shit
I love cats. I do.
I recently returned from a job interview in Minneapolis (and to visit crossbow1). The house was appalling! I knew I had left behind a cluttered mess, but the smell knocked me over. It would seem that the person looking after the cats wasn't partial to scooping litter. No worries. I had replaced all the litter before I left (and have to buy more bags today). What I saw was not so pleasant.
Cat barf was everywhere. I have been unemployed and with these cats long enough that I can recognize the barf from each cat. From the looks of things, the contributions were from all four. (In order of quantity cotributed: Scan, Gypsy, Dio, and Tabatha.) Next to and within the litter boxes was diarrhea. Going upstairs, I saw that a cat had peed on my bed. Tired from travel, I still had to change all the litter, clean up the puke, and start soaking my sheets in an enzymatic cleaner.
Yesterday, I woke up to more cat barf. Scan had been throwing up and Dio had been at the cat grass. I scooped the litter (and need to learn the identity of the diarrhea monster) to find there was also diarrhea between the boxes.
All this time, the telemarketers won't stop calling. A housemate filled out information on-line for the chance at a free iPad or airline tickets or something. Now the phones start ringing at 8:00am and don't stop until the evening. I've turned off the phones. I'll just have to check the messages and make certain to have potential employers call my cell phone. I'm not a personal secretary to tell every caller to place the number on their do-not-call list.
Finally, I got around to unpacking. I open the case, pull out my interview clothing to hang up, and then I hear the sound of a cat urinating. Not unusual in my room, as I have two litter boxes there. However, this sounded (and smelled) wrong. I turned to see Tabatha burying her pee in my suitcase.
Screaming, I got her out of the room. It also startled Gypsy off of my suede leather jacket (but the lining, not the outside shell). Fortunately, many things escaped being soaked. Furious, I decided to take a walk. The drug dealers were out in force, the numbers only slightly diminished by a recent bust.
Returning home, I picked up the mail. Inside, I set the mail down, set my jacket on the couch, and started going through the mail. There was the sound again. I turned and Tabatha was pissing on my seude leather jacket! I blotted up as much as I could and took my jacket to the basement. Looking on-line, it seems my jacket is ruined. Removing the stain won't remove the smell, removing the smell will ruin the leather, discoloring it, stiffening it, making it brittle, shrinking it. There is a wealth of information on-line, including the baking soda and vinegar crowd that seem to think it will curse cancer and turn lead into gold. Chemical studies on cat urine say otherwise.
Then there was yowling. I rushed up form the basement and saw Gypsy and Tabatha having a face-off. Dio was creeping in fast to "help." I pulled on the animal control gloves, scooped up the irate Gypsy (the gloves do protect from punctures, but the bruising may stay a while), and screamed, scattering the cats.
Then, I slipped in some cat vomit. It seems that Scan had barfed while I was out and I had missed it (and stepping on it) until then. I was on the floor with Gypsy batting at my face with his paws. Had he his front claws, I'm certain I would have been severely lacerated.
Later, I put on the gloves and started combing through Gypsy's matted fur. He put up with it better than I would have though. Still, he wasn't happy. I left the gloves on the sofa to get a roller for the excess of cat hair. What wasn't known to me then was to always put the gloves away.
In the morning, I was woken by Tabatha leaping up on the bed. I thought she wanted breakfast, so I was feeling around for my glasses while she sniffed around. Then she started peeing on the bed where Gypsy had been sleeping. I was in the bed, and she was quite deliberately peeing on it.
Downstairs, more cat barf. Scan had been throwing up yet again (no wonder he needs to drink so much) and Dio had been at the cat grass I thought was out of reach. There was a strong urine smell which I traced to where I had left the animal control gloves on the sofa. The gloves had pools of cat urine in the folds and a stain on the cushion where they sat.
I soaked the cushion with Nature's Miracle and took the gloves to the kitchen to wash off.
Since returning from Minneapolis, my life has been devoted to cleaning up after cats. I have to rely on checking the answering machine because the telemarketers won't stop. I want to find a job RIGHT NOW to get away from this.
I'm grateful for a place to live while I try to find a job, but a jealous cat peeing on my possessions and endless cleaning of cat vomit along with perpetual telemarketers drives me up the wall! My jacket has been ruined and I have, to date, spent $200 on Nature's Miracle for all the urine-soaked fabric! I have to have my mattress encased in plastic so I don't have to go bedless again after the first incidents. This is horrible as I perspire during the night, which doesn't get absorbed, which soaks the sheets, which get cold, which makes for uncomfortable sleeping and frequent washing of said sheets.
I'm not homeless, I have to keep that in mind. I'm just tired of the cat piss always being on my things. When a suede leather jacket is ruined, it doesn't to much to make me feel grateful for my current situation.
I think Charles Emerson Winchester III from M*A*S*H put it best:
"I will put this as eloquently and succinctly ans possible. GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!"
(I always loved that scene. Thank you, David Ogden Stiers! (I can see it now, he'll do a search on his name and find it linked with cat urine.))
I recently returned from a job interview in Minneapolis (and to visit crossbow1). The house was appalling! I knew I had left behind a cluttered mess, but the smell knocked me over. It would seem that the person looking after the cats wasn't partial to scooping litter. No worries. I had replaced all the litter before I left (and have to buy more bags today). What I saw was not so pleasant.
Cat barf was everywhere. I have been unemployed and with these cats long enough that I can recognize the barf from each cat. From the looks of things, the contributions were from all four. (In order of quantity cotributed: Scan, Gypsy, Dio, and Tabatha.) Next to and within the litter boxes was diarrhea. Going upstairs, I saw that a cat had peed on my bed. Tired from travel, I still had to change all the litter, clean up the puke, and start soaking my sheets in an enzymatic cleaner.
Yesterday, I woke up to more cat barf. Scan had been throwing up and Dio had been at the cat grass. I scooped the litter (and need to learn the identity of the diarrhea monster) to find there was also diarrhea between the boxes.
All this time, the telemarketers won't stop calling. A housemate filled out information on-line for the chance at a free iPad or airline tickets or something. Now the phones start ringing at 8:00am and don't stop until the evening. I've turned off the phones. I'll just have to check the messages and make certain to have potential employers call my cell phone. I'm not a personal secretary to tell every caller to place the number on their do-not-call list.
Finally, I got around to unpacking. I open the case, pull out my interview clothing to hang up, and then I hear the sound of a cat urinating. Not unusual in my room, as I have two litter boxes there. However, this sounded (and smelled) wrong. I turned to see Tabatha burying her pee in my suitcase.
Screaming, I got her out of the room. It also startled Gypsy off of my suede leather jacket (but the lining, not the outside shell). Fortunately, many things escaped being soaked. Furious, I decided to take a walk. The drug dealers were out in force, the numbers only slightly diminished by a recent bust.
Returning home, I picked up the mail. Inside, I set the mail down, set my jacket on the couch, and started going through the mail. There was the sound again. I turned and Tabatha was pissing on my seude leather jacket! I blotted up as much as I could and took my jacket to the basement. Looking on-line, it seems my jacket is ruined. Removing the stain won't remove the smell, removing the smell will ruin the leather, discoloring it, stiffening it, making it brittle, shrinking it. There is a wealth of information on-line, including the baking soda and vinegar crowd that seem to think it will curse cancer and turn lead into gold. Chemical studies on cat urine say otherwise.
Then there was yowling. I rushed up form the basement and saw Gypsy and Tabatha having a face-off. Dio was creeping in fast to "help." I pulled on the animal control gloves, scooped up the irate Gypsy (the gloves do protect from punctures, but the bruising may stay a while), and screamed, scattering the cats.
Then, I slipped in some cat vomit. It seems that Scan had barfed while I was out and I had missed it (and stepping on it) until then. I was on the floor with Gypsy batting at my face with his paws. Had he his front claws, I'm certain I would have been severely lacerated.
Later, I put on the gloves and started combing through Gypsy's matted fur. He put up with it better than I would have though. Still, he wasn't happy. I left the gloves on the sofa to get a roller for the excess of cat hair. What wasn't known to me then was to always put the gloves away.
In the morning, I was woken by Tabatha leaping up on the bed. I thought she wanted breakfast, so I was feeling around for my glasses while she sniffed around. Then she started peeing on the bed where Gypsy had been sleeping. I was in the bed, and she was quite deliberately peeing on it.
Downstairs, more cat barf. Scan had been throwing up yet again (no wonder he needs to drink so much) and Dio had been at the cat grass I thought was out of reach. There was a strong urine smell which I traced to where I had left the animal control gloves on the sofa. The gloves had pools of cat urine in the folds and a stain on the cushion where they sat.
I soaked the cushion with Nature's Miracle and took the gloves to the kitchen to wash off.
Since returning from Minneapolis, my life has been devoted to cleaning up after cats. I have to rely on checking the answering machine because the telemarketers won't stop. I want to find a job RIGHT NOW to get away from this.
I'm grateful for a place to live while I try to find a job, but a jealous cat peeing on my possessions and endless cleaning of cat vomit along with perpetual telemarketers drives me up the wall! My jacket has been ruined and I have, to date, spent $200 on Nature's Miracle for all the urine-soaked fabric! I have to have my mattress encased in plastic so I don't have to go bedless again after the first incidents. This is horrible as I perspire during the night, which doesn't get absorbed, which soaks the sheets, which get cold, which makes for uncomfortable sleeping and frequent washing of said sheets.
I'm not homeless, I have to keep that in mind. I'm just tired of the cat piss always being on my things. When a suede leather jacket is ruined, it doesn't to much to make me feel grateful for my current situation.
I think Charles Emerson Winchester III from M*A*S*H put it best:
"I will put this as eloquently and succinctly ans possible. GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!"
(I always loved that scene. Thank you, David Ogden Stiers! (I can see it now, he'll do a search on his name and find it linked with cat urine.))