Okay, dear Reader, if you've been following along, you know that Pete has had some intestinal problems. He's better now. He didn't get the full dose of metronidazole because I couldn't catch him. And if I couldn't catch him, it follows neither could I shove food in his mouth. But as the days progressed, he drank more water and if I could corner him and sit on the floor in front of him (because if I didn't corner him, I couldn't beat the other cats off with a stick, even though I did my best to keep them out of reach with my legs), he was more than happy to inhale the pieces of deli sliced turkey I'd toss his way.
Well, by the end of the week, he was starting to eat without urging again, and Friday and Saturday night, he was in the garage with the rest of the clowder for dinner.
But his stool is still loose, pudding consistency (funny how the comparison to some things nasty is food). And he's a little gassy when he goes, you can hear the wind as it releases. Sounds like Hooter in Captain EO at Disneyland. Last night we were watching television and I heard it. I grabbed the flashlight (easier than finding a lamp in the living room) and checked it out. Tired, I figured I'd just clean it up this morning.
Well, around three this morning (as the bedroom clock read, but it was really only two) I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I got up and figured I'd go hang on the sofa, maybe play a game of Candy Crush or two. And on my way, I stepped in the crap.
Well, I cleaned off my heel and, once again, put off cleanup until the daylight hour. And headed over to the sofa, where I played on Facebook a little, seeing that another FB friend was having a bad night's sleep. She'd stepped in puke.
I heard Brian in the kitchen, it was still dark out, he was feeding Miss Elizabeth. I said "watch out for the poop". Too late, it appears, he'd already stepped in it. He dished up some soft food for Miss and took it into my bathroom where she was waiting on the counter. Then he went back to bed.
I ended up going back to bed and got up just a little bit ago. I did my normal morning ritual, taking my BP meds, opening doors for the cats, giving them each handfuls of kibble (same thing is in the feeder, but they wait for this like it's a big treat... ) and cleaning up puke and poop.
When I hit the living room to clean that mess up, the little splatty pile from last night was almost non-existent. I've noticed this before. Brian doesn't seem to realize he's stepped in it for a couple of steps. And there was a trail leading into the kitchen. (Hydrogen peroxide works wonders on dried poo - let it set a little, then wipe it right up.)
This is really funny to me, I don't know why, but it really cracks me up.