the shitty kitties



it's funny how my life has kind of mirrored dooce's in the last week. she got a baby on 2/3/4; i got kitties on 2/3/4. she's got pooping stories; i've got pooping stories. she's had a life-altering, very meaningful experience; i've had ... well... shoot. maybe it hasn't been a mirror, but a parallel frontage road. she's on the highway and i'm just skimming the neighborhood.

so this morning i opened the bathroom door with a little trepidation. you don't understand, i've been spending an hour three times a day cleaning my previously pristine loo. washing floors, walls, sweeping up, changing litter, not to mention, checking and cleaning cat feet and fur. i have no idea why it takes so long, but it has left me slightly exhausted and a little more than irritated. and twitchy.

i realized that there was no way i could go on like this. that's not true: i could. i knew i could. but i also knew i didn't want to. and so we brought in the big guns: industrial paper used to cover bathroom walls and floors during construction, tape, scouring pads, extra gloves, more clorox, shop rags, and a new broom to replace the one used in the bathroom of the devil-bowelled kittens.

but this morning things seem to be better. maybe the medicine is kicking in.

heartfelt thanks: friends from far and wide calling and emailing with notes of encouragement and tips and tricks (especially scott and pat); tom for accompanying me on (and sponsoring!) late night trips to home depot for the big guns; kristin for giving me the use of her bathroom.