The day my cat convinced me to never have children

First off I would like to apologize to all my millions and millions of fans out there for the time between my last post and this one.  I was busy not fasting for Yom Kippur and hearing about my grandmother’s week long stay at a dude ranch in the Catskills, which she found out about in an AARP catalogue which is, and I quote, “an organization for old people.”  Her words, not mine.  For those of you who are wondering, she did not ride a horse but she did take a photo standing near one.  She also played a lot of bingo.  She will not be going back next year.

And now on to the subject at hand:  cats.  I have two of them, Clark and Grete.  Grete is named for the great Norwegian marathon runner Grete Waitz who passed away last April, a few weeks before I brought home the kitties.  Clark is Clark because, hey, why not?  So there are a lot of things that are awesome about my cats.  (The following is not an exhaustive list.)

1. Snuggly.
2. Warm.
3.  One time when I was crying Grete sat on me and purred and it made me happy.
4.  Clark jumps really high.
5.  When they find a fly and then everything is crazy!
6.  I think they eat bugs.  I don’t like bugs in the house so this is great.

There are also some things which are not awesome.

1.  Scooping the box out is pretty gross.
2.  Also, changing the litter.
3. Basically everything having to do with the box.
4.  Then there was that time they ate something they found and proceeded to vomit everywhere.
5.  Also the time we fed them later than usual and we walked into the room to find a puddle of cat pee in the middle of our path.
6.  Clark loves breaking glasses.  I mean loves it.

Today, however, was basically the epitome of  the downs of cat ownership.  Just for a little information, I have noticed over the last few days that one of the cats has, shall we say, loose movements.  I got worried.  So I went to the vet down the block (so convenient!) and asked at what point I should get worried enough to do something about it.  The girl behind the counter told me if it kept happening I should bring a stool sample down.  Ew.  I really hoped it would stop.  And then today as I was getting ready to head into the city I heard it.  It sounded like this:

Scratch, scratch, scratch.  Gurgle…gurgle..gurgle.  Scratch.

And then the smell.  How can something that big come out of an animal so cute, small, and furry?  And then the favorite animal maneuver:  walk funny and then proceed to rub butt against floor which, subsequently, has to be mopped because gross.  I took a deep breath with my head out the window and investigated the box to find exactly what I knew I would find there after the noises I had just heard.  I called the vet.

Me: Hey, so, I came in yesterday because one of my cats has been having…cough cough…diarrhea for the past few days.  I am pretty sure I know which one it is.

Vet Tech:  This has been going on for a few days?  Okay, just bring down a stool sample and we’ll run some tests.

Me:  Oh, okay.  So, how should I get it down there?

Vet Tech:  Just wrap it in some tin foil and bring it on down.

Ugh.  Ew.  Ew ew ew.*  I did a dance of disgust, made some choking sounds, glared at the offending cat, sent some texts requesting support, and then I did it.  I took a LARGE piece of tin foil (sorry, environment), wrapped runny cat shit in it and brought it down to the vet.  So, that happened.  And now, after dealing with the less-than-solid stool of another creature, I have decided I will never have children.

*I know one of my readers specifically is all “whatever, that’s nothing!  I deal with animal poo all the time!  Diarrhea, shmiarrhea.”  And to you I say this:  You = rock star; I = pussy (no pun intended).