read, weap

bean gives good link. neighbors down the street. not sure if she actually knows them or how she found them. but more than worth the read.

okay. these cats. they are cute. cute, i'm telling you, cute as a friggin' button. as a friggin' drawerful of buttons. that is not the problem. the litter box is the problem and the concern that something ain't quite right. and a nasty ass smell. and i don't want to be one of those people — you know, new, type-A-ish moms — who call the doctor at every small thing and we already did go to the vet and they've only been here for four days. but i am seriously grossing myself out thinking about invisible cat fecal matter maybe being polkadotted casually around my house by little kitten feet.

some things you just shouldn't share on a blog. read the cool brooklyn kid site instead and pretend i didn't say anything.

meanwhile, the shmoop's out of town; kb and bret are taking their sweet ass time driving up the pacific coast line; shane's in paso tending to money (his own newby kitty who is 4.5 pounds to my shit-spreading duo's combined weight of 5.3); and tom is working late hopefully on something that benefits mankind. and i blew today. blew it. blew it. got nothing done. and am grossing out about the cats. and shoot. shoot. can i have a do-over. or should i just grab a beer and call it a wash?

and speeking of wash, how many times can you clean your bathroom where the litterbox lives in one day without needing to go on OCD meds? and, if you were me would you take every piece of furniture out of the house and just steam clean the whole effing place? like asap? or should i just take a chill pill?

you know my mother is cracking herself up right now.

parts of life... they just ain't fair.