Alaska Bound

The king size, denim duvet that I inherited along with a dog and a cat and a few other household items when I teamed-up with the Boss was a bit annoying to clean; consequently, it didn’t get cleaned very often. Too large for an upright washing machine, the only way to clean it was to haul it to the laundry mat and pay four or five dollars to wash it in a massive, front loading washing machine. I didn’t like paying that much money to rent a washing machine for 30 minutes. I enjoyed the time spent inside the laundry mat even less. That option is looking better and better now that I will spend $30 on dry cleaning the new comforter after the Cat left her mark on the corner of the bed this morning.


Yes, our resident feline sped up her departure to Alaska considerably this morning after the children ran into the room and informed me that there was a kitty sausage on the corner of the bed. What in her F. silvestris catus brain caused her to plop and piddle on the corner of my bed is beyond me, when a perfectly accessible litter box was ten feet down the hall. She managed to leak through the bedspread, one blanket, one top sheet, and one bottom sheet. The mattress cover and mattress remained dry. That is the only reason why she is still alive to go to Alaska.

On Thursday.

So, the stripped down bed sits waiting for a second set of clean sheets in less than twenty-four hours and the pile of dirty laundry doubled in size in less than twenty-four hours because last night was the night that Captain Chaos decided that she needed to throw up. In my bed. I have no idea why my bed is the preferable target for the contents of her stomach when she has a perfectly suitable bed of her own to puke on. My bed seems to be the collecting point for all manner of bodily fluids, animal or human. I’m heading out to Nancy’s House of Naughty this afternoon to purchase rubber sheets before any other creatures show me fluids that I am of yet unaware. I’m thinking that a hose and a squeegee will be a cheaper and easier method for washing bed linens.

This cat was owned by Dr. Tim, a friend of mine who worked in Kansas City before selling his house, giving away all of his earthly possessions, and moving to Arizona. He gave us a huge and very comfortable couch, a TV, DVD player, a desk and chair, some kitchen utensils, and “Baby” (an animal rescue cat with perhaps the world’s most stupid name) because they wouldn’t fit in his BMW convertible. We kept everything except the cat, which went on to Randy’s house where she was promptly renamed “Boo” due to the fact that she scared so easily. Boo lived with Randy for a couple of years until he married Shayna. They decided that combining her three cats and one dog with Randy’s one cat, one dog, and two fish was too much. We received Boo and the two fish. During this time Dr. Tim moved from his digs in Arizona to new digs in Alaska. When he heard that his old cat was available he decided to take her back. Whether she will remain “Boo” or revert to “Baby” or become “Bear Meat” is beyond me, as long as it is Dr. Tim’s house when she next decides to duke on the bedding.

When it rains it pours. I just wish it was water coming down.

Post Script


The nice lady at the dry cleaners told me that dry cleaning cannot get cat doody out of a comforter. The “Dry Clean Only” bedspread needed to be laundered. I asked her how it would turn out. She told me, “Pretty good.” So, I took the “Dry Clean Only” bedspread to the Laundromat for a $4 cleaning. It smells pretty clean, too.

Post Post Script

Guess what one of the dogs did on the classroom floor while I was out this afternoon?

Do Brown Bears Eat Cats?

I have no idea what I looked like Saturday morning after I put on my tuxedo inside a makeshift dressing room that I shared with a frog. The dressing room was constructed with clothesline, clothespins, and three sheets. The frog hopped in when someone opened the door to the large wooden building that served as a kitchen, make-up room, dressing room, and amphibiary. It contained a single refrigerator, a six burner gas stove, and an old, two bin, stainless steel deep sink, none of which you’d really want to use. The Boss used words like “handsome” and “dashing” and “my man” when she saw me, but I noticed that she was squinting really hard when she spoke so I knew that she wasn’t wearing her contacts. She was beautiful.

The wedding was nice as far as weddings go. It was simple. It was short. It was conducted in a state park in front of a large lake. All the fishermen who had arrived early in the day left shortly before the service began. The preacher only called the groom “Ronald” once. He managed to use the man’s correct name the rest of the morning, including during the all important "vows" portion of the ceremony. And the Maid of Honor had orange feet. Her sister had tried to convince her that a spray-on tan would look good under her bride’s maid dress, but they abandoned the idea at the ankles after it became clear that she would look like a walking billboard for Tang rather than the honored guest at a good friend’s wedding. So, she was pasty white from ankles to brow but her piggies were a nice shade of Minute Maid.

Back at home, we are dog sitting one of the newlywed’s dogs. We also have one of their cats. And two of their fish. Only the fish will remain after the bride and groom return. The dog goes home and we are sending the cat by air freight to Alaska. I hear there are a lot of brown bears on the streets of Anchorage.

Do brown bears eat cats?