piss and more piss

Piss was a naughty word in my family when I was a kid. It was not tolerated at all - and that was probably enforced more by my oldest sister, "Mother-Michal", than my parents, come to think of it.

Michal, you're a real gem. Love you girlfriend.

Back to piss. Yes, it was a bad word. Still today it has a harshness in my mind that is only appropriate in certain harsh circumstances. Well, today was one of the days in which the word piss was acceptable.

Sylvie, our cat, had been acting strange for the last couple days. Yes, she was tearing around the house, especially at night, and meowing constantly. We just thought she had pms or something - haha. No, she's a wacky cat to begin with, and we've had windows open lately and have let some flies and mini-moths in, so we figured she was just on the hunt.

Last night was particularly tumultuous, and we continually told her to shush as we tried to have a peaceful night. Plava woke up at a shocking 4:30 am and my sleepy body allowed her to come into bed with us for a little snuggle and nursing - nothing like getting a little extra sleep if I can! So there we were, the three of us dozing in the wee hours of daylight, when suddenly we heard a loud, from-the-gut, rather shocking meow that shook us from our sleep and caused us to look at each other wondering what the heck it was. It hardly sounded like a meow, in fact. If you've ever heard cats fighting and using that tone of voice that sounds like a baby crying, that was it. Ryan and I finally looked up and saw Sylvie sitting on top of the duvet between Ryan's legs, staring straight at us. Ryan swatted her down and she ran out of the room. We slept on.

It was around 5:45 that suddenly Ryan sat up and said, "oh my goodness" in such a tone that I had to sit up myself and see what he saw. There, between his legs, and apparently soaking through the covers to his legs, was a huge, huge pool of cat piss. Oh sick. It was actually pooling on the duvet. We jumped up and just stared at it for a moment, wondering what in the world had gotten into our cat. Plava lay on the bed looking at us like we were aliens, wondering what the commotion was all about.

I trotted downstairs to see whether the room that we keep the litter box in was open. We never close it, so there was a slim chance, but when I arrived, I saw that it must have been blown shut from the doors being open recently. Poor cat. We felt so horrible. It must have been a couple days that she was holding it too, since I hadn't been in that room since, oh, Thursday?

Later, we found a pile of poop in the living room. Poor Sylvie. She had nowhere to go.

Poor us. We had a bed covered in cat piss.

So we went through our day, enjoying not one, but two picnics (Ryan's class reunion and just the three of us going to the beach for dinner and a swim), and we finally arrived home at around 7:15, well beyond Plava's patience with her sleepiness. She was so tired, and when I put her in the bathtub, she screamed like she was in pain all of a sudden. I think she just really didn't want a bath, but rather a bottle (or should I call it "daaa-doh") and bed, so I sat her little naked bum on my knee while I poured the bath. Well, as you can imagine, the combination of naked baby bum on pants and flowing water didn't produce a very nice effect. Within seconds I was experiencing the household's SECOND piss episode of the day, all over my pants and onto the floor.

Mercy.