In My Shoe?!??

I have no idea why I haven’t learned some of life’s simplest lessons, despite being that side of mid-30s, but it never fails that in the evenings I get really thirsty so I grab me a large cup of beverage. I figure, one large cup o’ whatever (water, pop, beer…) can only be good for you right? They are always saying people need to drink more liquids and here I am at 8 o’clock with my 20 ounces of refreshing whatever it is. See? Healthy! Then I get doing my evening stuff and half way through I notice my refreshing whatever it has magically up and disappeared (sometimes the whole glass, more often just the liquid inside). Naturally I have to get more (or find the first, which is usually more than half gone anyway) because I still have a pow’ful thirst and now there is no more tasty beverage. Obviously, someone in my home is evaporating my stuff because I’d certainly remember drinking all of my refreshing beverage right?

Absolutely! Or at least that’s totally the explanation right up until the wee (hee!) hours of the morning when my body suddenly finds that missing liquid and processes it. I can absent mindedly drink a gallon of water over the course of an evening while doing something else and this makes me the queen of the 3am pee run. Add to that the fact that I’m really good at forgetting to drink anything until later in the evening anyway and it’s a whole recipe for wee hour excursions. Since I can’t seem to remember to pace my drinking, I’ve gotten really used to the small hour jaunts. Ah well. This also means I’ve perfected the art of not totally waking up at 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning when I amble out of bed and up the stairs. Who really wants to wake all the way up at those hours anyway?

Par for the course, I zombied out of bed at 3something the other day and shuffled down the hall to the stairs. About two steps into my amble, my plork and my foot had a conversation outside my head about the floor. My foot was trying to get a message to my head, but the plork was under strict orders not to wake the head until a more reasonable hour. So the plork asked if it was totally necessary to wake the head, because the head is not a pleasant thing to be around when woken too early. The foot seemed to think so, but the foot also is a pansy wimp with a tendency to go all ‘wah!’ when it steps on an errant crumb. You don’t wake the head for a crumb. The plork did a little event recon and asked the foot for a little more info on the sitch. The foot, it seems, stepped in something squidgy about three steps ago which flagged the “anomalous event” circuits. Hardwood floors are rarely tactily ‘squidgy’ and the foot thought the head just might want to know. The plork thought this was a head wakable event so five steps later I realized I had stepped in something warm, soft and squishy a while back.

Those of you with cats can relate to my next logic flow which went something like: “Warm…soft…squishy…awwww, yuck. I just stepped in cat puke. And I tracked it down the hall. Way to go, plork.” For indeed I had. Now, on top of having to pee, I had to first hobble into the kitchen and wipe off my foot, then go back and find the original puke pile, my toe wandered puke smudges and the other two piles of puke (my puking cat, Isaak, has the tendency to pukes in threes). The trod on pile of puke was a fairly demure pile of cat yark (typical of puke two) and I found the small pile of cat bile (usually puke three) but the big initial puke pile was nowhere to be found. I looked too. I looked high, I looked low, I looked here, I looked there and by that time I really had to pee so I gave up. Missing puke can be found later, I had to go.

Around seven in the morning TheMan won the million dollar puke prize when he found the missing first and largest pile of puke. In my shoe. Can I get a round of YUCK!! for that? And also…why??!?? My…shoe!!! That’s…MY SHOE!!!! The cat had the entire living room floor to puke a stomach full of mushy kibble but apparently, my Birks were the only appropriate landing platform for a hot lunch special. ARRRGH! I had to wear my old “need to really be retired” Birks to work two days in a row because the first day I dunked and scrubbed puke shoe and it was still drying out the next day. You don’t want to be going to work with the waft of kibble yark hanging about your shoes. That’s not right on so very many levels that I’m not even going to try. And also, one more resounding YUCK because…MY SHOE!!!

I’d have more sympathy if Isaak didn’t do this all the damned time. Or what seems like all the damned time even though really it’s like once a week or every two weeks. Still, when it lands in your shoe, I feel you can bump the occurrences up to “all the damn time” just on account. I have no idea why he does this either, since he’s not ill, I feed them plenty and he doesn’t do it at every feeding. I guess every now and then he feels the need to eat his kibble way too fast and way too much until he’s stuffed himself to the gills. Then, when the kibble has a chance to expand in his stomach, he can’t help but yark it all back up. Maybe he just feels the need for a hot midnight snack every once in a while but my SHOE is not a proper serving platter for warm kitty barf. Ever. NO SHOES!

Last year at the booniverse: That’s 21 days of shipping! What the hell is it doing for 21 days…Sightseeing? Bar hopping? Walkabout? Mini-course on global economics?

Last last year at the booniverse: Polyester and hot burner don’t get along, apparently.

The year before at the booniverse: So I did what every red blooded American would do when they see a spider the size of Cleveland (but with more electricity) racing through their house. I grabbed the nearest cat and plopped it down in the spider’s path.

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