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Bleargh, Part Doo
Mar. 24th, 2007 12:51 pmYou may remember the last time I posted about strong noxious smells in our bedroom. Well, it started again last night. Only I could smell it, apparently, and it was -- again -- on my side of the bed. Fine, I thinks, something else got in and died, and thank you very much to whichever of my neighbors is leaving out rat poison for them to die under my bed.
This morning, Honey wakes me to tell me she's got the virus that Son just got over, and boy does she ever. He was excreting from both ends at the same time; she's at least got those staggered, so to speak. Fever, chills, the works. I take care of the house and we settle in for the morning.
After Son's soccer game is canceled -- wet fields -- I decide there's no time like the present, since it's already a nasty yucky awful day, and it's sort-of-raining too. I don my special gear and dive in. The crawl space is drier than I would have expected, and I'm not getting even a whiff of stench. Still, I crawl around and poke my flashlight in the usual areas. Nada. I pull off my face mask: I can smell dry dusty dirt and crawlspace aroma, but no dead bodies.
Well. This is a pretty pickle. This means that nasty fecal smell is indeed in the bedroom, as I first thought the first time around. This means the dog or cats committed a small sin, and the rats are innocent.
I undive, brush off the mud, extricate myself from the boots, hang up the jacket, remove the head covering and mask, and -- wearing the headlight -- go in. It's a tight space, but I quickly zero in on the source: cat poop. Luckily for me, on a pile of discarded papers and under some plastic bags. I scoop it all en masse, deposit it in the trash, pull the bag out of the can, deposit that bag in the kitchen trash, pull that bag, and take it all outside.
Son is on my side of the bed, watching some movie with Honey; he's waving his hand past his nose. Now he smells it. Gee thanks.
I wipe the area with cleaning agents, remove the rest of the debris, and I'm done.
This is what happens when cats are trapped like..like cats with no litter boxes. Brady's been trapped in the sun room before, and had to use the planters -- very nicely, with leaves raked over his pile. Someone was trapped by the construction crew and felt the call of Nature. Thank you very kindly for choosing my side of the bed. Otherwise, Honey would never have smelled it -- and worse, might have stepped on it in her rampage to the bathroom when the intestinal bug hit. Nothing like small favors.
This morning, Honey wakes me to tell me she's got the virus that Son just got over, and boy does she ever. He was excreting from both ends at the same time; she's at least got those staggered, so to speak. Fever, chills, the works. I take care of the house and we settle in for the morning.
After Son's soccer game is canceled -- wet fields -- I decide there's no time like the present, since it's already a nasty yucky awful day, and it's sort-of-raining too. I don my special gear and dive in. The crawl space is drier than I would have expected, and I'm not getting even a whiff of stench. Still, I crawl around and poke my flashlight in the usual areas. Nada. I pull off my face mask: I can smell dry dusty dirt and crawlspace aroma, but no dead bodies.
Well. This is a pretty pickle. This means that nasty fecal smell is indeed in the bedroom, as I first thought the first time around. This means the dog or cats committed a small sin, and the rats are innocent.
I undive, brush off the mud, extricate myself from the boots, hang up the jacket, remove the head covering and mask, and -- wearing the headlight -- go in. It's a tight space, but I quickly zero in on the source: cat poop. Luckily for me, on a pile of discarded papers and under some plastic bags. I scoop it all en masse, deposit it in the trash, pull the bag out of the can, deposit that bag in the kitchen trash, pull that bag, and take it all outside.
Son is on my side of the bed, watching some movie with Honey; he's waving his hand past his nose. Now he smells it. Gee thanks.
I wipe the area with cleaning agents, remove the rest of the debris, and I'm done.
This is what happens when cats are trapped like..like cats with no litter boxes. Brady's been trapped in the sun room before, and had to use the planters -- very nicely, with leaves raked over his pile. Someone was trapped by the construction crew and felt the call of Nature. Thank you very kindly for choosing my side of the bed. Otherwise, Honey would never have smelled it -- and worse, might have stepped on it in her rampage to the bathroom when the intestinal bug hit. Nothing like small favors.
