A Small Crappy Tale


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Earlier in the week the Audubon Society put out a video wherein an eagle fed a cat to its young. From there you are ‘naturalists’ who talked about ‘the food chain’ and ‘cat lovers’ who decried the posting of the video. Personally, I would hope that from here on out the Audubon Society will be more selective in what it posts. I, of course, came down on the side of ‘cat lovers’ and exchanged recipes on how cook the eagle.

People were upset.

‘Food chain’ lovers; I be at the top. Don’t forget it.

Yes, I know the Bald Eagle is a National Symbol. I haven’t been living under a rock for 50 years. But I ask myself what it symbolizes? I don’t come back with much anything good. Basically, the Bald Eagle sits on your money much like an off shore shell corporations sits on billions of dollars that will never return to the US economy. If you find that something to celebrate…oh well.

Any-hoo….

Saturday night into Sunday morning I was snoozing away trying to enjoy my last long sleep of my vacation when I kept being awoke by the smell of…shit. I sat up at least a dozen times in the night and looked around discreetly, I didn’t want to wake hubby. Who, by the way, I figured was just breaking wind in his sleep leading to the stinky smell. In even my sleepy haze I knew that wasn’t quite right. It was actual crap.

We woke up. We had a little pillow talk. The cats were on the bed. The Boys love to sleep with us, Missy Kitty not so much. Harry sleeps on my pillow. Charlie sleeps between my feet and Mongo sleeps wherever he damn well pleases because he’s just too darn fat to move around! LOL

Harry sauntered off my pillow and onto the blanket where he settled on hubby’s chest as we talked.

That smell drifted back to me but I didn’t say anything. I got up. Got dressed. Went downstairs to make coffee as all three of The Boys bounded down the stairs with me. Harry, unceasingly, stops several times right in front of my feet. Charlie makes it down 13 steps in three bounds. Mongo follows along looking up at me with pleading eyes.🙂

Coffee first. I put it on. I opened the Cat Cabinet to get the food. I brought the dry food to the Community Bowl. Looked down at the floor and there was this very thick long lines of…brown.

Harry looked up at me.

I grabbed his furry tail.

Yep, he had poop stuck ALL over his backside! Great big clumps of it.

I let go of his tail. He booked down to the basement. I got the bleach and the Swiffer to clean up the poop before going down to the basement whereupon I found clumps it on the stairs.

UGH!

Back upstairs, get the cleaning supplies, clean it all up.

I couldn’t find Harry. He’s black, the basement is dark, he hides well. Only way to get him.

Back upstairs, grab the cans of cat food and open them. Everybody comes running including Harry who I grabbed and tried to pick the shit off his ass with some toilet paper. I did manage to get some of it by now all of by any means.

Oh bother!

For those of you who don’t know, who may be new here, Harry is anywhere between 17 and 18 years old, he’s blind in one eye, and has a bum leg. Needless to say, Harry rarely shows any interest in going outside any longer. In fact, he spent the whole winter in the house. I know someone of you are wondering why I don’t the ‘humane thing’ and put him down. Here…my grandfather was blind in one eye and had terrible arthritis in both hips. No one ever said: “Hey, let’s shoot grandpa.” In fact, for all of his physical faults, he was very active (much like Harry until this winter) and he died picking apples in an orchard when he was well over 80.

Hubby came downstairs ready for a nice Saturday and I had to turn to him and say: “Honey, would you go get the bedclothes? ALL of the bedclothes including the pillowcases? Harry has shit stuck to his ass and he’s been all over the bed.”

I did wash on Saturday.😛

After I finished writing, Harry finally came out of the basement. I reached down to pet him for a bit, caught a whiff of that delightful scent, let him go, he turned around, I grabbed his tail and…yep. Still there.

Again I turned to hubby: “We really have to give him a bath.”

Crap!

This is never a pleasant prospect. Especially now that he’s a ‘geriatric cat’ with that bum leg. But he wasn’t going to clean it off on is own.

So that’s what we did. Both of us held him in place as gently as we could while I cleaned the crap off his fuzzy butt! Let me tell you, it was stuck. If you’ve ever had a newborn baby and had to deal with that lovely toxic green Velcro that comes out of them…you know what I’m talking about here.

The whole time I was doing that all I could think of was that Bald Eagle feeding the cat to its young and all of the people who thought the posting of the video was just fine. I wanted them to see what I was doing for my CAT and to tell that whenever they go to such extremes to clean shit off a bird’s ass they could come up and talk to me. Until then, I really don’t want to hear it.

Harry had his bath, he’s all clean now. Then it was Mongo’s turn. He smells a bit because he’s so damn fat he can’t really wash himself very well. Watching him do it is sort of like watching Buddha try to lick his belly…but with a bit more success. So Mongo’s clean now and he smells good too. Missy Kitty and Charlie don’t have many problems in this area so they escaped bathing for a few more months, you know, until Flea Season really kicks in even though all of them have brand new collars.

In summary: Yes, I love my cats. I will defend my cats. I will kill anything that harms my cats. I don’t particularly care what/who it may be.

After all, I am at the top of the Food Chain baby and it’s only a natural instinct to defend what you care about or avenge it.

About lbdarling

Beware...the truth is spoken here. If you can't handle that...buh-bye.

Posted on 02/05/2016, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Cleaning poopy kitty butt is something we had to do often with my moms cat Pierre. He was 12 I think when he died. Long hair and poop on an old cat is not a good combination. He was a very sweet even tempered cat and it got to the point where you could see him thanking you in his eyes whenever you cleaned him up. The only reason he was put to sleep was simply he was in so much pain, so thin, and had no good quality of life left. You could barely pick him up without him meowing in pain. He was such a lap cat and loved being held that it was just too much.
    I will always side with my animals over wildlife. Raccoons and possums were killing our cats and birds so even though I hate guns, they’re my babies. I will protect them over the other animals. Woodchuck doesn’t hurt any of them but tears up the ground. She’s fine with me. It’s just dirt.

    • You had a cat named Pierre??? ME TOO!!!!

      I had to put one of my cats down, Callie. It was HORRIBLE! I ran her over the with car, broke her tail, took her to the vet who said to keep her inside for a week or more and she’d be all right. BUT she go out, I couldn’t catch her until the next day and by then…I don’t even want to talk about it. I was 5 months pregnant crying my eyes in the vets office. Never again.

      • He was Pierre Jean-Clawed Van Damn Cat. We thought it was hilarious and I don’t even remember how his name came about. An older cat we had was Henri so we named pierre a french name too as for the rest. Pfft no clue.
        After seeing how Wash has been with his leg, I can barely imagine how it was for you.

        • Pierre Jean-Clawed Van Damn Cat…that is hilarious! Ours (my parents got the cat a few years before they got me) was Pierre because my dad wanted to name him Peter but my mother didn’t think it was fancy enough. So they settled on Pierre. He was a big ball of dark gray fluff with white paws.

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