That I love our cats.
Here’s a couple of reasons why.
Cleaning the bedroom was a royal pain. There’s not really a lot of wiggle room as far as the bed is concerned. But there’s a lot of pushing involved to get under all of it. Push this way, clean under this part, push that way, clean under that part, and keep doing it until the whole floor has gotten the treatment.
When I was finished, the only thing under the bed was Brian’s walking shoes.
Friday evening, I smelled poop. Fresh, strong poop. In the bedroom. Never smelled it like that before. Brian noticed it, too. I looked under the bed, just saw the shoes. Looked behind his dresser, nothing. Looked in the bathroom, nothing. Looked in the silk plant on top of the armoire. Nothing. Brian came in and looked in the same places with the same result. Nothing.
Then he went outside and checked under the bedroom window.
Still, that smell.
We just shrugged our shoulders, figured it must be coming in from one of the litterboxes on the breeze.
Later, a couple of the cats got into a little spat and ran into the bedroom. I went after them, grabbing the flashlight so I could see who it was. I got on the floor and looked under the bed in hopes that I’d see which black cat was the object of some red bully. No cat, but what did I see in front of Brian’s shoes?
I yelled out to Brian that I’d found the source of the smell and I cleaned it up. I didn’t see it before because it was right next to the shoes. Luckily, there was none on the shoes and it cleaned up easily.
And after washing the rest of the floors yesterday, this morning I cleaned up at least three puddles of urine. In places they don’t normally pee.
Ah, I love our cats.