First, I’d like to give a big shout out and thank you to the makers of Febreeze. My cat is currently playing with the belt of my robe—looking darn cute. This is the same cat who decided yesterday to use my couch as a litter box. Little wretch!
I thought that when the kids left home, I’d be able to get some nice furniture: the kind that comes from a store instead of somebody’s basement or garage sale. Turns out that an empty nest is no guarantee that your prized possessions will be immune from the seven plagues of Egypt. The Egyptians revered cats, so don’t try to tell me there weren’t any ancient couches used as scratching posts.
Not to worry. After pet odor eliminator, Febreeze, steam cleaning, and more Febreeze, my couch smells marginally better. I guess I should consider myself fortunate that the cat hasn’t figured out how to drink from a juice box.
I see shows about hoarders and think, there, but for the grace of God go I. In spite of their annoying characteristics, I love cats. Their independent spirit and failure to come when called is rather endearing. Could I become the woman living in a single-wide trailer with twenty-seven feline vandals? I could be about to find out.
My best friend is moving away in a few weeks. My husband is considering taking a tour of duty in Afghanistan for a year, and I know that he can count. If I have more cats when he comes home than I did when he left, he will notice. So I must be strong. My husband is counting on it, my furniture is counting on it, and I don’t think Wal-Mart stocks enough Febreeze if I start taking in strays.