Sh*tty Sunday, or Life with Mango

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A few months ago, Mango was diagnosed with a food allergy and now only eats prescription food. For some reason, now her poo is kind of liquidy. It’s also relatively odorless, which is a blessing. I’ve taken her back to the vet and had the poo analyzed, but everything is fine. With that in mind, things have been different. The adjustment period meant that while trying to cover her waste, Mango would sometimes step in it, and of course I’d need to clean her paws, as well as wherever she’d fling the poo. Yes, I said fling. Interestingly, she has no problem allowing my BFF to wash her paws, but Mango and I always struggle. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen that often now, as we’ve adjusted to this new way of life. But every now and then, there’s an incident, the most recent of which is related below.

Last night I’m minding my business doing my hair, and while my deep conditioner is in, I clean Mango’s bathroom (sweep, bleach everything down, the works), and put the clean rugs back on the floor.

I shower and come back out to the dining room, put my leave-in conditioner on, and fix myself a little snack while my hair dries down a bit. As soon as I sit down with my donut and milk, I hear Mango in the bathroom. Yes, she’s pooping. Y’all know it’s mostly liquid, so I’m like, is this heffa going to mess up my clean bathroom? Two minutes, later, she zooms out of the bathroom and down the length of my apartment.

Dear reader, she has not one, but TWO shitty socks.

I get up and walk towards her. She knows I’m going to try to get her to clean her paws, so she runs. STRAIGHT TO MY ROOM AND UNDER MY BED.

Soooo, I say, okay. Let me clean up the bathroom while I wait for her to come out. I get the Clorox wipes and get the lil’ poop off the floor, it’s not much, but she’s stepped in it and tracked it just a little. I clean it up from everywhere I see it, wash my hands, go to my bathroom and get my housecoat, ‘cause I know we are going into battle and I don’t want to get scratched by a shitty paw.

I go back into the kitchen, get some paper towels and wet them, and sit down to wait. I’ve learned that trying to get her in the sink only leads to me getting scratched up, but that wiping her down is easier on both of us and gets the job done.

Readers, I look back into my room, and she’s standing there staring at me. I stare back. A shitty standoff, if you will.

I get up, walk towards her, and she scampers back under the bed.

By now, the paper towels are only damp, so I rewet them and put them into something so they don’t dry out. I start to twist my hair, pretending to ignore her.

I decide to put some water down, and shake her food bowl. You know her lil’ greedy behind can’t resist a nibble, and soon enough she comes out.

Mango saunters over to the food bowl, and I try to make my move. My hip is a little creaky and I’m slow, which gives her time to get away. This time she runs into my office.

I close the closet doors (ya know like Penny’s mama), so she doesn’t have anywhere to hide. We both know that if she gets in there I’d never get her out.

Readers, she runs behind the six-foot bookcase. It’s caddy corner to the wall, but tight, and there’s just enough room for her to get back there. It’s one of her favorite places to hide when I’m getting on her nerves. She knows I can’t reach her.

THIS. DARN. CAT.

Orange tabby cat, napping on a red couch.

The culprit!

But now she’s hungry, all this running has worked up an appetite, so it’s not long before she ventures out again.

I’m waiting for her.

She sees me and runs back into the office, but this time I’m close to the door, so I trap her behind it. I hold her down best I can and wipe her paws clean.

I wash my hands, gather my things, and bid her goodnight. I tell her I love her, even though IT’S CLEAR SHE DOESN’T LOVE ME, and go to my room, closing the door behind me.

She will be at the corner, waiting for one of y’all to come get her!

 

GenX Snow Day

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As you all may know, some parts of the country are experiencing winter storms, veritable blizzards replete with white-out conditions and school cancellations. Mine is one of them. Even so, after completing my teaching duties for the day, I decided that I must needs take the trash out. I’m not sure why, as it was neither rank or rancid, nor was it overflowing. Truth be told, I just wanted to go out in the snow. You see, I’m from the Deep South, where we rarely get more than an inch or two in a season (although global warming is changing that), and I still get excited by the soft, pillowy, allure of fresh snow. You’d think I’d be over it after living in the Midwest for several years, but I’m not.

So, I put on an extra pair of pants, throw on my BLF Press hoodie and my snow boots, bag up the trash and open the door. It’s a little colder than I thought, so I go back in and put on another jacket.


“Ready,” I say to myself as I pat my pockets for keys and cell phone, just in case I fall out and need somebody to come get me.

“Okay, you got this. You are NOT going to fall down the steps,” I say aloud.

First step cleared, I’m good.

“Okay, okay, okay, keep going, you got this!” I’m cheering myself on, because of course I am.

Step three. Uh oh.

You see, dear reader. Step three converges at the point where the roof overhang ends. Which means that the snow is piled up so high that steps three and four are nearly invisible. At this point, however, I’m committed. I WILL take this trash out, and I am NOT going to fall down the steps.

So, first things first: I fling the trash bag down to the bottom of the steps. There’s no way I can bend over to clean off the steps with my hands without toppling over, and I don’t have a snow shovel in my apartment. Then, I re-survey the steps and realize that the only way down is to sled down. So, I sit down, place my gloved hands on the steps, and propel myself down.

Wheeeeeee!

I *sled* down to the bottom, look around to see if any of my neighbors saw me, get up, and dust myself off. I then grab up the trash bag, and traipse through the snow to the garbage receptacle.

And this friends, is how GenXers with bad knees play in the snow.

THE SCENE AFTER I CLEARED OFF SOME OF THE SNOW ON MY WAY BACK UP THE STEPS