Saturdays are important here at Chez mrpeenee cause that's the day when I change the litter in the cat boxes. Whoo hoo, such high times. I was finishing up with Octavia's (and getting ready to mop up the floor under her box where she had pissed, of course) when Toby climbed over in the bathtub AND PISSED IN THE DRAIN THERE. He did so with his back to me and an air of disturbed gravitas as if I were intruding. Naturally, I changed his litter, I had to clean the bathtub with bleach so now the bathroom smells like an abandoned swimming pool. I also was faced with the distressing question of how long has he been doing this, distressing because I take baths in that bathtub. Also, WHAT THE FUCK TOBY?
Toby insists on being adorable even if he is pukey.
Kitty fluids have been on my mind a lot lately. A few nights ago, I was cozily in bed when I heard the familiar yet distressing sounds of a cat puking. I briefly considered unpacking myself from bed to go investigate, but experience has taught me vomit will wait. I compromised by yelling "Stop that this minute" which had exactly as much effect as it ever does, which is to say, none.
The next time I actually staggered to consciousness, I went on the hunt for puke, but I found none, or not any fresh puddles anyway. My sizeable collection of very fancy, very expensive antique Chinese rugs are all liberally decorated with the dried remains of pukes gone by. I clean them up with my fancy little vacuum/rug cleaner, but it can only do so much against the staying power of cat vomit. Which brings us to Michael, the Insane Rug Guy.
Michael owns the best rug washing business in the San Francisco Bay area. He is also a lunatic. Dealing with him can be challenging, even if it is amusing. And honestly, I do find him pretty hilarious. He has a schtick of pretending to be this cliche of an eccentric old Jewish guy. Every exchange with him has to include an extra hour of his Henny Youngman imitation. Diane von Austinburg was here for one of our interactions and hid in her bedroom where she said she clearly heard me yelling "Get out, just get out". He brings with him some long-suffering Hispanic day laborers. Each time, I offer them a bribe, cash money, to kill him. Each time, I can see them pondering if I'm being serious and if 40 bucks is worth a potential murder rap.
I usually get the rugs washed at least once a year, but I had been putting it off for a while. The mystery cat puke was the boot up my butt that I needed to go ahead and schedule the comedy hour that is Michael coming to pick up my rugs. I guess we'll see if this is the time the guys decide to take me at my word and off him. I just hope they wait until he has finished washing all my rugs.
Nude dudes:
Marcel Rodriguez and his perky buttchops.
If you're just going to take a nap, you might as well take your pants off. So inconsiderate.
The Eastern European charms of Peter Lipnick.
Ta-dah.
Also, I wanted to mention, days after I had given up looking for the missing cat puke, I found traces of it dried on the bottom of my favorite tennis shoes. Dammit.
Why can't my rug washer look like this? Huh?
A naked cowboy for my sweet niece Amber. I know not every uncle and niece relationship includes naked humpy guys but ours does. Are you complaining?
