Saturday, March 23, 2013

Déjà Poo

I have already told you about Dickens—our beautiful, good-natured, long-haired tabby. Neither of us had ever had a long-haired cat before Dickens, and we have come to find out that the trouble with long hair on cats—aside from the fact that you constantly have to brush it—is that things tend to stick to it. Things that, shall we say, belong in the litter box. Consequently, those things occasionally get dropped elsewhere.

For instance, on the hall rug.

We have a beautiful Navajo rug in our hallway—a souvenir from a trip to Sedona. It covers a multitude of cat puke stains and really "ties the room together." The trouble is that the rug is dark, and the hall is dark, and—well, you get the picture.

Yesterday morning, I got up and, as usual, walked into the kitchen to get my cup of coffee, outside to get the morning papers, into the living room to drop off Loretta's "Times" on the couch and my "Star" on my recliner, then headed back towards the bedroom.

It was at that point that I turned on the light.

Loretta heard me swear (see last week's post) and called out from the bedroom, asking what was wrong. I didn't answer her right away. I was too busy looking at the trail I had made. It was like one of those dotted-line trails Billy leaves in The Family Circus, when his mother tells him to do something and he wanders all over the neighborhood before he does it.

The worst part is, this has happened before. Same rug, same Billy poo trail. You'd think I would have learned my lesson.

I already know not to go barefoot. Anyone who lives with cats should know that. In the twenty-four years Loretta and I have had cats, we have stepped on everything from hair balls to toy mice to real mice. I should also know not to venture too far in a dark house without turning on a light.

Lesson learned.

Until the next time it happens.

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