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Hope you’re having a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning.
I’ve been traumatized and it’s just 8am.
I feel like calling it a day. It’s over.
Here’s what went down.
You should know two things before I start. These things may not be a surprise to you.
First – I am not what you’d call a pet person. I didn’t grow up with dogs or cats. I don’t long to touch a cute dog walking down the street or cuddle with a cute kitty. Take all that with peace and love.
Second – we have a cat. Technically my husband and kids have a cat, but it’s hard to ignore because we all live together.
It’s taken me a long time to get comfortable living with a cat, but I’ve done well. In fact, I’ve done very well. I feed the cat. I make sure it’s not thirsty. I’ve even come to terms with the litter box.
But I have limits people.
Back to my morning.
So I’m up early, excited to tackle the day and do some chores. I don’t mind chores. I especially don’t mind them when it’s this beautiful out.
I gather up all the laundry – there’s two piles. Dry cleaning and regular. The regular stuff is in a basket. The dry cleaning is in a heap next to it. I go about my merry, delusional way and take them downstairs. I notice an…odor. That’s not surprising because it’s dirty laundry inclusive of a 10 year old boy’s soccer clothes and more importantly, I always notice an odor. Constantly. Good, bad, ugly – I have super olfactory powers. I shake it off. Soon everything will smell of lavender and bleach. All will be right in the world.
I start a load and scoop up the dry cleaning and head to the car.
More odor.
Different odor.
3 more things to note. 1) We’ve had some busy weekends and I haven’t been able to drop off the dry cleaning in a bit. Like a month. So it’s a lot of stuff. 2) Coming back from one such weekend we noticed that we’d inadvertently left the laundry room door closed. 3) We keep the cat’s litter box in the laundry room.
Back to present.
I drive to my favorite dry cleaners. Stop for coffee. Sing a tune out loud.
I grab the clothes out of the car and head in. As always it’s busy on a Saturday. I wait my turn – still clutching the clothes. I make a mental note to buy some sort of foot spray for my son’s shoes. It must be his stinky socks infecting all the laundry.
Then I get to the counter, dump the clothes and they start separating as we make small talk. Yes, it’s finally sunny we say, no more rain. This winter was hard, we say smiling and nodding.
And then it happens. She lifts a shirt and there it is. A pair of pants with a pile of cat poop and a shirt stained a special shade of yellow. I think I screamed. Or maybe they screamed. I don’t remember, I blacked out.
They quickly folded up the clothes and politely told me to go wash with vinegar and soap before bringing them back.
I drove home in a trance.
As a mother, most of my life has been about pee or poop. That’s what they don’t tell you before kids. It’s just all pee and poop.
But I’m finally at the stage in life where my kids are, for the most part, keeping all that to themselves. But I realized this morning that I can’t get away. I’ll never get away. My world is one big bathroom joke.
How could this have happened? I mean, I know how it happened. We locked the cat out of the liter box, which lives in our laundry room. So the cat went and did her business in our laundry. Oh the irony. Oh the horror. Is she an evil genius bent on revenge? Was it a cosmic karma joke on us? On me? I dunno.
I’m going back to bed.