There’s Cat Vomit In My Shoe…

shoe

Sometimes life is like that, your day is cruising along, nothing special and then bam,  something as innocuous as entering the walk in robe and recoiling in horror from the smell that assaults your senses can change your outlook from sunny to “it’s all to hard”.  That was my Saturday….

Dry retching, I investigate the horrifying odour only to discover that in retaliation for feeding him the tablet he needs to control his Thyroid problem, darling Monty Cat has thrown up in my sneaker, across the carpet and up one wall of the walk in.

While only a small vomit, the minced beef must have been “marinating” overnight (it didn’t get below 25 inside that night and the walk in holds all the AV for the home theatre room adding to the heat factor in there, so the smell was unearthly.   Can deal with visual ick, but smells, especially inside my house I don’t cope with.

(Thank god I didn’t get up at 4 am and dress in the dark to go for a ride like I was considering doing!!)

This “delightful” find brought on a dummy spit of spectacular proportions, irrational thoughts of torching the shoes and everything the disgusting mess had touched and topping it off with booze.   “I’ll never be able to go for a long walk again, that’s it, I’ll be an unfit, tubby woman, so I may as well have a drink”.  Yep, that’s where my brain took me.   Aren’t you glad you weren’t there?  😉

A cup of tea and a slighted saner train of thought saw me try to clean everything and think through my though process.  A drink wouldn’t solve anything, and seriously, the lack of one pair of shoes is going to put up such a barrier that it will derail my entire fitness program?  Bloody hell Crazy Cat Lady, get a grip!

So why was this tiny “problem” such a big thing in my head.  Perhaps it’s all the stuff I have going on at work, perhaps it’s because I didn’t sleep well last night, perhaps I’m seriously messed up and destined to burn my house down because of a bit of eww on the carpet!  Who knows?   LOL

What I do know, and I guess where this post is going is, don’t let the cat vomit in your shoe distract you from what you want to achieve.  These small things are sent to try us and we can’t let them derail our focus on what is truly important.

PS: The carpet is now, thanks to the loan of a carpet cleaner from our next door neighbour, but my shoe smells like a wet dog – nothing worse than a sneaker that has to be soaked!  I’m pretty sure it’ll have to go, but I’m holding out hope and investing in Glen 20 shares.

PSS: 20 days no wine today and feeling great

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Me, neurotic, who said?

sleep worry

5 am is a weird time.  It’s too early to get up and do something but too late to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.  So I lay there and think of all the little ways my life is not what I thought it would be.  Everyone does this right?  Oh, just me, hmmm.

I’ve got this overwhelming feeling that I’m a fraud, that I’m not good at my job and something about 5 am amplifies every little mistake to huge proportions and I worry that I’m about to be found out and will have to go back to selling shoes.  Does anyone else get this?

I wonder what happened to that girl who used to float through life with no worries, money sure as hell never bothered me – if you don’t have something it can’t be a problem right?  My biggest problem in the late 80’s was which club to go to first and if I could snag a free car park so I’d have $6 left to buy a Coke while I was out.  Now I’m staring at the ceiling worrying if Crazy Cat Boy will like the sandwich I’ve planned for his lunch tomorrow and how much the replacement vacuum cleaner head is going to cost* and if the Greenback will go up against the Aussie dollar. WTF!  I know it’s an odd collection of things to worry about, but it’s very noisy inside my head sometimes.

So this morning as I’m lying in the dark having my very own pity party Monty cat discovered that I was awake (he was on one of his periodic stomp bys that he carries out during the night hours).

I was so, he happily snuggled down for a pat. While he was making his little happy whistle purrs in my ear I wondered what I’d been worried about.  What right did I have to feel sorry for myself when I was in my warm comfortable bed with food in the fridge, a safe place to sleep and some furry creature who clearly thinks I’m ok.  So many people around the world don’t have that option for whatever reason.

Now in the cold (and boy do I mean cold today) light of day all the problems I was stressing over have melted away… kind of like the point of this blog post; sorry about that it was super clear what I wanted to say around 5.15 am.

I won’t take up any more of your time, except to say embrace the little things in your life that are positive and ignore the negative, for the most part I’m willing to bet that the former outweigh the latter.

 

*Almost  as much as a brand new vacuum it turns out, damn it!

Morning Chaos – A Tale Of Daily Survival

lester it is coldTap tap, tap tap… a gentle rhythmic tapping on my face wakes me slowly, groggily. It’s early, I can tell from the dim light filtering in. I can hear road noise, so it’s not insane O clock, that’s a good thing.

My eyes adjust to the darkness and I look up to see four sets of eyes staring intently down at me – I’m surrounded!

The Boy kitten resumes his gentle tapping just to make sure I don’t drift off again. The middle cat is on the pillow behind me stoops down and licks my eye ball for good measure. The big cat just continues to give me that long unwavering look that says “get up and feed me”; it’s been 18 years now and he never fails to greet me with this stare every morning.

I twitch my hand and the girl cat immediately jumps in the air and off the bed like a frightened gazelle, triggering a mass evacuation of cats from the bed trampling Crazy Cat Boy in the process and scaring him awake.

I haul myself out of bed and check the time (why I don’t know, it’s not like I can change it) and navigate the writhing sea of cats that are waiting to trip and kill as they triumphantly escort the food slave to the kitchen.

The boy kitten races ahead of me and jumps into the cupboard where the food is kept, waiting to help me select a tin that will meet his exacting tastes.   As always I show him the label and he nods approval before racing off to the kitchen bench where he will taste test prior to serving while I try and find a clean spoon.

Four cats, four bowls, the girl cat first… she sniffs it disdainfully and wanders off (I’ll need to put it up on the bar before she’ll condescend to eat it), the boy kitten paws at my hand excitedly as I dish his up, while the middle cat howls pitifully, concerned as he is every morning that for the first time in thirteen years I’ll forget to feed him. The big guy just stands at his bowl waiting, he knows what’s coming and he’s happy to wait while his medication is added to it.

Suddenly there is only the “silence” of chewing; peace descends on the house once more. The chaos of the feeding procession complete I fall back into bed and contemplate the day….

The Gourmet Creative “Process”

I’m seriously considering commissioning a time and motion study to get to the bottom of this issue. There have to be efficiencies that can be applied to the current processes – Marco Pierre White would lose his mind if he saw Crazy Cat Boy cook!kitchen

I’m standing in our kitchen surrounded by an inconceivably large mess that produced a single dinner for two last night.

Stains I don’t recognise spread across the floor (I’m ignoring the larger bits of ‘stuff”, I leave them for the cats to clean up so they aren’t my problem), there are brightly colour dribbles down every cupboard.

Weird spices coat the bits of the bench, sink and cooktop that I can see past the truly staggering number of utensils, plates, chopping boards and saucepans that clutter every available surface.

I don’t understand!  The dishwasher is right there and it’s empty, why not put the dirty stuff in there when you’re done with it?  Every knife has been used; why must he use every knife?

Once clean tea towels are caked with god knows what.  Why is it always the good tea towels that he uses, why not the ratty old ones that I hang right next to them?! Soaking doesn’t work; they never look the same again.

The kicker is that the one who cooks doesn’t clean in our house.  There is no incentive for him to change anything in his creative process.

One of the younger cats jumps lightly up on to a slightly less crowed part of the bench and gives me a look that says “There’s nothing good left up here, I checked last night”.  The older cat licks a random patch of floor hoping for a find, he’ll probably have success judging from the looks of all this.  With a resigned sigh I pull on rubber gloves and start the recovery process….

I really shouldn’t complain.  I do cook, but I don’t enjoy it and he does.   My major contribution to keeping us fed is to suggest that wine might be nice and grabbing the glasses out.  Apart from the colossal mess, the system works for us.

Battle Stations!

It would need to be planned with military precision.  The troops would need to be briefed; a single mistimed word or action could sabotage the mission.  It would be vital not to spook the targets. One whiff of what was afoot and they’d go to ground and our mission timeline would be compromised.

Lying still in the cold dim light of dawn, nerves on edge but focused on the mission objective, we wait until the time is right to strike.

It’s cold, hopefully our targets will be less active, less alert, more inclined to be lured into drowsy complacency in their warm quarters.

The order to move is issued.  Calmly yet quickly the battalion goes to work. The plan requires the opposition to be cut off from all escape routes and flanked until they have nowhere to run.  Our troops have been through this before, seasoned campaigners who each know the roles they have to play in the operation.

Mission critical is to isolate the big guy first, he’s the most aggressive, he’ll put up a fight and marshal the others given the chance.  Once he is contained the rest will be easy.

The Capitan moves right in to a deliberate bottle neck, knowing that the big guy will follow and investigate.  The plan works… suddenly he realises what is going on and calls to his team, but it’s too late, their escape has been cut off!  They have nowhere to run, they must stand and fight.

The open battle field is chaos, with troops on both sides running and crying in the heat of the battle.  Our opponents are wily and cunning. This is their territory and they know every inch of it. The action is fast and desperate.

Suddenly, victory is ours!  All that can be heard are the angry, almost feral calls from the prisoners as their captors load them into the transport vehicle and move out.  The objective is complete.

Inside the transport our team congratulate themselves on the perfect execution of the battle plan and thank god that the cats only need vaccinations once a year!