Anyway, back to the housekeeping thing. I’m not so great at it. Not only would Donna Reed and June Cleaver shudder, I think that Martha Stewart and the FlyLady would have issues with me. But still in all, it’s mostly clutter. Seldom does it get to the point of grime and disgust that I gross myself out. Underneath the layer of clutter, it’s my home is basically hygienically sound, unless of course you count the 10’ x 10’ room where three...count ‘em...three... teenaged boys reside. That one is off the table.
Cute little ">kitty rescued from the grease trap at the Chick-fil-a by my sweet son? Bottle fed her, and today she’s beautiful...
It’s a good thing she’s beautiful. Because if she weren’t such a sweet cat and so pretty, she’d be gone. Of late, it’s been cold. Sabra, being a kitten still, likes to play. In particular, she likes to play with prey. Because she’s well fed, and prefers Iams Kitten chow to raw birds and mice, she doesn’t eat her prey. She plays with her prey. Because it’s cold, she has been bringing prey into MY house to play. And when she gets bored with playing with the prey (liking the alliteration a little to much here, methinks), she just lets it escape. It may or not be mortally wounded. New Year’s Eve morning I awakened to the sound of her bell in my kitchen and an odd thump-flop sound. Repeatedly. I had out-of-town overnight guests. And a lovely carpet of downy grey bird feathers covering my kitchen floor. Said bird was daid. As I discovered while attempting to sweep up the feathers and found the poor thing under the pile of feathers. Feathers, which by the way, didn’t sweep, but simply pluffed, danced and swirled all over the place, away from the broom and nowhere near the dustpan.
On Tuesday, I got out my briefcase to check on a notarization I had done before Christmas Eve. When I picked it up, I noticed a funky smell. Upon unzipping it, said smell got worse. Unzipping yet another pocket to investigate, I found an upside down mouse, very, very , very daid, and putrefying beneath the little net pocket where I stored the last of my business cards. It wasn’t the cute Disney-variety, either. I will save your lunch and not post a visual. Either the mouse had run in there to escape Sabra, or she’d stored him there for a later playdate. But he didn’t survive. Neither did my briefcase. Have you ever smelled a two-week daid mouse? It’s beyond obnoxious. I have thrown away my $70 really nice Samsonite briefcase/laptop case. Not a purge item I had in mind.
And now that the kitty door has been sealed up, traps have been set (and we caught another mouse) and Sabra is inside by invitation only, and not allowed to bring in her little toys, I am paranoid. Last night, while getting out of the shower, I thought I smelled a dead mouse in my bathroom. I emptied out every single thing under my sink. No mouse. I did, however purge a wax-kit and some hotel shampoo that was probably at least a decade old. And this morning? That same smell..it’s in my laundry/pantry. I really think this time it’s real. And behind the washer or dryer. Visions of Hanta Virus are seeping into my dreams. I wonder if I can have Tyler move them before he leaves for work...
One thing about it….this will either turn me into a better housekeeper, or push me all the way over into never-never land. Reality TV, here I come….