So, after disappointing him so badly, I rolled on to my house, another sixty miles southeast. The Airedales were thrilled that I was home, but the Siamese cat, Frosty, voiced his displeasure loudly and at length. I found other evidence of feline displeasure almost immediately; the grey cat, Gus, had peed all over the refrigerator door. I cleaned that up, and exhausted, went to bed.
In the middle of the night, I got up to visit the the bathroom and smelled something funny; I reached down to straighten a bunched up rug and felt a substance that should not have been there. I confirmed it as the source of the odor once I flipped on the lights; nothing like having to clean up cat poop and put the bathroom linens in the washer at 3 a.m.! It seemed like things couldn't possibly get worse until I picked up a shoe in order to move the rug...and a nice, hard kitty nugget plopped out on the floor.
It then crossed my mind that I'd heard the Siamese, in a rare departure from his sustained yowling, scratching around the bathroom. As one of my childhood friends mentioned, there probably should've been an immediate decrease in the aggregate feline population of my house as the horror sank in. This, however, is the cat who talks to my mother on the telephone all the time. Last night, as I wearily made my way to bed, I leveled a threat just before turning off the light: "Frosty, if you leave me any more presents, I will duct tape your butt closed!"
He must've gotten my point. A few minutes later I heard him alight the stairs, headed for the cat box. I have too much going on to deal with cat poop in my shoes, although it perfectly illustrates how I've felt for the last week.