I like cats, really I do.  They’re quiet, warm and soft, and they generally take care of themselves. They’re perfect for busy people.  They’re like having the cuddly benefits of pets without really having to lay out any effort.

Then they get old and weird, and gross things happen.  Which is why I’m done with them.

Danna’s out of town.  Cole and Daddy are manning the fort.  The house is nice and clean.  Cole woke me up this morning with, “Daddy, there’s something on the rug”.  “It’s probably kitty puke.  I’ll get it in a minute.”  Wow, was I wrong.

During the night the cats had some sort of “episode”.  Our house is tall – four stories from basement to top floor, and we have one litter box in the basement and one in the top floor bathroom.  The episode started in the basement as some sort of poop cling-on that one of the cats tried to get off its tail.  I know this because of the streak of poop stretching from the litter box, across the floor, and all the way up each carpeted step into the kitchen.  It’s not a small mark of poop, either.  It looks like someone took a bag of crap and ground it into the carpet on the edge of each step.

The cling-on was tenacious.  In the kitchen I saw more evidence of this in the form of several poop swirls on the kitchen floor.  Then, came the living room.  The cat stopped over the rough grating of the heater vent and rubbed a bit, grinding poop into the heater vent.  That didn’t work, so he dragged his butt over the living room rug, and then on to one of the chairs. 

The poop hung on.  Time to go upstairs.  More poop streaks all the way up the second stairwell, and all over the hallway on the second floor.  No time to stop – onto the third stairwell with more streaking.

By this time you’d think the cling-on would be long gone, but you’d be wrong.  It must have been a monster-sized cling-on because even by the third stairwell the brown stains looked just as dark and thick as they did in the basement. 

At the top of the stairs I found evidence of some success – a small dollop of poop stuck to the top of the last step.  The cat must have thought so to, because he really let go once he got to the top floor.  There are poop smears all over the floor, on the bench seat behind the couch and on my drum rug.  Finally, after following the trail for four floors, the stream terminated in a small dollop of poop in the upstairs bathroom besides the litter box.

Jesus.  The house looks like someone murdered Mr. Hanky and dragged his soggy dead carcass up and down the stairs.  When you come in the front door it smells like you’ve crawled inside a cat’s ass.  Which, after looking around for a few minutes, is close to what you’ve done.

I don’t know how to clean it.  I need to hire carpet cleaning people in haz-mat suits.  I need a Costco-sized box of car air fresheners or a dozen old men all smoking stogies to get rid of the smell. If I was in college I’d just move.  FML.