I'm pretty sure I have officially broken my own record for the most consecutive days of not posting. It's not that I haven't had anything to say - for one, I haven't even begun to tell the tale of the Curse of the Dolphin (that's in my drafts folder from months ago) - it just that I think I've been holding my cyberbreath, waiting for news from that pesky Law School in the Bush. In fact, I've put many things in my life on hold. My desk is a mess. My laundry is unfolded. I have letters to write, forms to submit, plane tickets to buy... Most days all I have managed to do is run the dishwasher. There is just something really zen about running the dishwasher - even though it is WAY too loud. I swear the first thing I will buy with my grown up lawyer paycheck will be a silent dishwasher like my mom has.
But I digress.
So we're 72 days out now since I received the coveted phone interview from Law School in the Bush. According to my obsessive internet researching, I have been passed over by at least five separate waves of acceptances. No one at all has been accepted for the last couple weeks. Rejections and waitlists won't be handed out until April, so I'm not willing to give up all hope (despite my mother's and brother's efforts to sap it out of me... lovingly, of course...), but it's time to go on living, right?
Besides, I've got to update you on Ratty Catty. Last you heard, Ratty had begun flirting with me in the great outdoors while Barack Obama was settling in to his big old white house. Great, right? I mean, sure, we'd just had that whole flying pee on the couch belly scratch incident (from which I still have a bit of a scar), but whatever, we were making progress...
You may recall that when I was still optimistic about my chances with Law School in the Bush (and therefore feeling like I'd end up living in the snow), I had decided to step up my efforts to domesticate Ratty Catty. I secretly made available the two household litter boxes and I waited to see what would happen. One rainy afternoon, not long after the flying pee incident, he finally took the bait and peed in the box. He was super satisfied with himself and I was so proud that I sang his praises to the only other biped around - my poor sweet hubby, who totally objects to allowing outdoor kitties access to indoor plumbing. As you might imagine, Erik wasn't as excited as I was about my so-called victory. He was, in fact, appalled, pointing out in his annoyingly logical way that the kitties would soon come to expect this scooping service and he was not in any way, shape, or form going to provide while I went to Washington to visit the folks.
Sure enough, after I tried to wean the kitties off their boxes the peeing wars began. So many pees happened while I was gone Erik won't even list them all for me but the last one, I know, took place on the bed, right in front of his very eyes, on the day I was coming home. But Erik blames himself, cuz he thought maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't happen this time and he actually let Ratty on to the bed. When will we learn? So whatever. We got a new bath mat, a new rug by the front door. We stocked up on floor cleaner. We died a little inside. Nothing new, right?
Besides, I knew I'd be coming home from my visit with this fancy new cat lady present from my sister, queen of all cat ladies. It is an air freshening wax melting night light from Scentsy. It is the perfect gift for people who allowed their spoiled ass cats to pee indoors. What I didn't know is that I would also be coming home with a horrible cold. This distracted me for two of the weeks which I have spent not blogging and not getting admitted anywhere. It was great, actually, except for all the painful post nasal drip and the nagging coughing fits. Anyway, I was in no mood for resuming the litterbox experiment (and, I believe, I was specifically banned from doing so by the aforementioned husband...). So the war waged on.
One trouble with sinus issues is that you really can't smell much. So as my cold started clearing up I started smelling the carnage. Only I couldn't place it. I just get these horrific whiffs of pee and then - nothing. I bury my nose into blankets - nothing, sheets - nothing, cushions - nothing. I plug in the Scentsy. Better, but, no offense to Scentsy, not perfect. Again with the phantom pee. I begin to think maybe I am crazy. Erik and I go on a cleaning spree. We wipe every surface in the known universe (and by "we" I mean, of course, "he"...). We wash the entire bed again, for good measure. Still with the whiffs.
One day I think I have found it. The windowsill by my side of the couch, the one I use as a side table (cuz my actual side table is not enough to hold all the clutter I feel I must suffocate myself with) - perhaps it is the windowsill. It is wood. Wood is porous. It gets afternoon sun - just about the same time I get most of my phantom whiffs. It has to be the windowsill. So we scrub it better. But still with the whiffs.
Then tonight, tonight I think, now I know. How do I know? I have seen it with my very own eyes.
So tonight, much like the evening of the Inauguration, Ratty Catty was being especially sweet to me. For the first time since I left on my trip, he is offering himself to be pet right here in the computer room. And he is purring up a storm. "Yay," I think, "I am not a crazy person to give this ill mannered cat a home. Inside he is a real kitty. He just needs love and patience." Yeah, right.
Soon after our love fest peters out I hear the familiar sound of "scritch, scritch, scritch" coming from the living room. I know this cannot be good. Quickly I run through Ratty's rules of warfare - checking for violations. Is there a rug on the floor? No. Any clothes on the couch? Negative. Something plastic out of place? Nope. Is anyone chasing him or cornering him? Again, no. Is OC giving him dirty looks? No. OC is asleep in his too tiny cat nip box. Is there bedding anywhere, even in a laundry basket? No. Geez, what do you think I am, stupid? So I am stumped. I decide to investigate.
Ratty Catty is on the spare couch (not the couch which was violated by the flying pee incident) and he has peed - right into the crack of between the cushions.
All I can think is - Gahhh.
I know the couch is trash, but I still have to clean it. I grab some paper towels and begin to stick them in the crack. My hand is wet on the top and the bottom. I gag, perhaps throwing up just a little. I continue changing out paper towels. I believe I am cursing. By now I have woken up my sleeping husband. I know he is cursing. I make with the couch wipes but just as a courtesy. Soon my hubby is shoving the violated couch out the door. Again, cursing.
Did I mention that on this day 17 years ago Erik first asked me to be his girlfriend? It was confusing then, seeing as how we were already living together, but still, romantic just the same. My how times have changed...
Anyway, I give up. The pee cats have won. I turn around the boxes. If they are going to pee inside, please Lord, let us keep it in the boxes. I take a shower. My hand does not feel clean.
Of course, when I sit down on the remaining couch again I smell the phantom smell. A sad little lightbulb goes on in my head. Had I not been home to hear the scritching scratching, I would have never known about this evening's couch pee. The cushions are so perfectly designed to ferret away the evidence... I am now 90% certain this same ritual has been practiced on our primary couch. But my hubby has to go to work so it will have to be investigated and evicted tomorrow.
Good thing we are moving in four months cuz it looks like I am about to bring the patio chairs into the living room. Maybe it will motivate me to spend less time indoors.
Anyway, more on the moving later. We may have found a creative, if not still horrible, compromise to the never-ending fight I was picking at over New Year's. Neither of us like it, but we both get what we want. That's how a compromise works, right? But we'll see.
I also have to tell you the story of how we recently became a one car family. Oh, and of course there are a bazillion snippets to share from my trip home - G's budding sense of humor, the tale of the indoor waterpark and the broken thumbnail, and the horrible truth about birthday cake all come to mind... And I owe you about a bazillion seal stories. I've had a couple cute sea lions and even a couple of harbor seals (I know, already...), not to mention a bunch of run of the mill animals from last fall. Whew. I am getting tired just thinking about it. Maybe feeling overwhelmed with my blogger back up will motivate me to finish my financial aid tasks...
For now, though, it is off to bed with me.
He knows. He always knows.
9 months ago