Just when you thought I'd discussed disgusting catcrimes in far more detail than anyone would ever care to read, I give you Caticide II.
I had cleaned up yesterday's catastrophe as best I could and slept in the recliner last night. No biggie there. I bounce between the bed and the recliner normally, sometimes even moving from one to the other in the middle of a sleep-broken night. (Having a major sleep disorder can be such an adventure. I never know where I'm going to wake up in the morning. Bed? Okay. Recliner? Fine. Sofa? I guess so. Tub? All right, that one was a bit weird, not to mention a tad cold and uncomfortable. Plus, I overslept because the alarm was in the other room. Yeesh.)
The stripped bed was not worth remaking. I won't struggle a full set of sheets back onto it until I've finished the clean-up and salvage job. (It's a full size mattress and box spring set that I've got pushed into a corner of the living room. Normal sheet changes are difficult for me because of my back. I don't do the mattress shifting maneuvers very well anymore and reaching all the way across and down, well, I ain't quite so spry as once I was.)
Even if I wanted to remake the bed, there was that huge wet stained spot which smelled like cleaner now instead of kitty kidney output. Can't cover that until it dries, but I can't leave the bed naked with the kits around. So I made an air tent. I used a wire frame that I use to display necklaces for sale and tossed an old curtain (somewhat ironically made out of a pair of king sized sheets) over the whole bed. So the bed was covered against the onslaught of cat hair that attaches itself to everything in my life and the mattress still could breathe a little and dry out.
Little did I suspect what would happen next.
Apparently, while I was away at work, Lucy started playing on the internet again. I'm fairly certain she does that a lot. I don't blame her much. I mean, ever since I got rid of the television what's a cat to do to pass the time during the day when I'm not around? What with all her "innocent" walking across the keyboard and her constant casual surveillance of me, I'm fairly certain she knows all my passwords. If she ever figures out Amazon or Ebay I'm in biiiiig trouble.
I truly think Lucy was here, right here on this site, during the day, checking out my last entry, and I don't think she liked what I said about her. Lucy, innocent (for once) of a heinous property crime, was nevertheless badmouthed. There it was in print! Tessa, Tessa, Angel-baby Tessa, gets away with everything just because she's old and blind and, ohhhh, so soft and pretty. I admitted it right there - if Lucy had peed on my precious bed I would have killed her.
Lucy does not take such slights lightly.
That is why I came home to find both cats sleeping on the bed as usual, Tessa curled into a fluffy ball atop a navy blue pillow (for maximum contrast in power shedding) and Lucy comfortably draped over the air tent bump above the hidden stain.
And there, right there in the center of the bed, equidistant between my feline satellites was the nastiest pile of regurgitation yet to reverse peristalt itself out of either of my lovely darlings.
Heavy, heavy, heavy sigh. What a mess.
Lucy opened her golden-green eyes and looked at me languidly, not even bothering to raise her head. She knew that the shreds of white garbage bag in the mess signed the work of art as hers. (Tessa has better taste than to eat plastic, while Lucy finds it to be the best treat ever.) Somewhere in the house, another mess, a freshly overturned trash pail, awaited, its lining bag destroyed and partially consumed, its contents redistributed in a more feline-esthetically pleasing chaotic design.
The challenge hung in the air between us, unspoken but completely understood.
"What are you going to do about it?"
Dead air. I looked at the mess and then back at the cat.
Lucy didn't blink.
"I thought so. Okay, SmartMouth, You might as well just go get your sponge and start cleaning."
What else could I do?
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