It all started with a pile of cat vomit.
The cats have been in the throes of a violent protest period which has been manifesting itself in the form of inconveniently placed piles of vomit (not that there's ever a conveniently placed pile of cat vomit) and the marking of the dogs' stuff. Joe wants it noted that if either of the cats piss in his office that he's going to be pissed.
But they haven't pissed in the office. They did piss on the backpack I take to obedience and agility classes so I'm going to have to replace that. The Gator Girl's squirrel was also one of the first victims. Fortunately, she'd already ripped most of it to shreds so I wasn't terribly heartbroken about having to throw it away.
But yeah. One of the cats (Fat Cat) vomited in the hallway this morning, right in front of the Gator Girl who, as you know, has never ignored anything in her whole entire life. She certainly was not about to ignore a fresh puddle of cat vomit. It took my very best don't mess with me voice to keep the Gator Girl out of it long enough for me to clean it up.
Afterward, I thought there had been enough distraction to make the Gator Girl forget about the cat vomit in the trash can because, as we have discussed before, she does suffer from Shiny Ball Syndrome. But I was wrong.
So when I got out of the shower, I opened the bathroom door to find a trail of shredded paper towels leading from the bathroom to the kitchen because not only did my little criminal master mind (who is apparently a little off her evidence hiding game right now) get into the trash, she felt the need to bring it as close to me as possible. The Gator Girl herself was nowhere to be seen. This is always a sign (you know, if I didn't already have a paper towel trail to follow) that she's gotten into something she wasn't supposed to get into because her separation anxiety demands her to be as close to my hip as possibly at all times.
I walked to the end of the hallway, examining the extent of the mess when the Gator Girl came downstairs, bouncing around like she'd been upstairs innocently napping the whole entire time. The bounce went out of her step when she saw the not so happy look on my face. I swear, if she could talk, we would have had the following conversation:
GG: Oh hey mom, what's up?
Me: You got in the trash.
GG: What? No. I didn't get into the trash. That was Big.
Me: That was not Big.
GG: But it was. Really, mom. I told him not to but-
Me: You have paper towels stuck to your feet.
GG: That was also Big.
Me: Big did not stick paper towels to your feet.
GG: Right. See, here's the thing, mom...
So I cleaned up the mess again. Not to be gross but there was significantly less vomit this time around. Just think about that before you let the Gator Girl give you a kiss.
After that, I left for work where I was the busy one. More sweaters. Gee, you'd think it was September or something. The only exchange of note that came out of work today was this gem that happened between me and the AssMan.
AM: Why are there sweaters here? We don't usually put sweaters here.
Me: No, we don't but I was running out of room for them in the sweater section.
AM: But they don't go here.
Me: Well, my only other available space is in the dumpster so unless you're expecting me to start adding on using the construction skills I don't possess, this shelf is going to have to do.
AM: This shelf will be fine.
Me: That's what I thought.
I came home to find that the Gator Girl had gone through the hamper looking for socks and underwear to shred. She brought some of it downstairs, probably because it was cooler in the living room. She did not, however, manage to start a load of laundry. I probably would have been less irritated with her if she had.
So I went around the house and gathered the laundry. While I did this, the Gator Girl cemented the cats' hatred of her and all things canine as she relentlessly chased both Vader (formally known as Scaredy Cat but her wheezing makes her sound like Darth Vader so hence the name change) and the Fat Cat up and down the hallway and not only over the bed but under it. Finally I threw a balled up pair of socks down the stairs for the Gator Girl to chase (thank you, Shiny Ball Syndrome!) so the cats could get to a safe zone. Vader was so pleased by my intervention she bit me.
While I was out watering the lawn, the Gator Girl chased Fat Cat around some more. In the process, she managed to break the couch, hitting it in the exact perfect spot to make not only one of the back legs break but both the back legs. Me and my still mildly angry back were especially pleased with this development. So after I fixed the couch, I took the Gator Girl outside with me while I moved sprinklers around.
As the dogs are still not allowed on the new grass, the Gator Girl was supposed to just stay on the deck and wait for me to come back. She's capable of doing it. She's done it successfully in the past but today was one of those days when no matter how much obedience training she has had in the past, it wasn't going to be enough. Plus, I kind of yelped.
I yelped because I had put the sprinkler in the wrong place and ended up with a face full of icy cold water. The Gator Girl launched herself off the deck and flew across the yard to rescue me from the sprinkler. Of course, her idea of rescuing me was literally tackling me to the ground (she may only be sixty pounds but that dog packs a real wallop) before turning around to attack the sprinkler itself. So instead I had to rescue the sprinkler from the Gator Girl.
We headed inside after that. Fat Cat was sitting in front of the screen door as we approached.
And that was when the Gator Girl broke the screen door.
Big, by the way, has positioned himself in front of the fan and hasn't moved since.
My kingdom for a fenced in yard.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm pretty sure Fat Cat is vomiting again. Probably in my shoe.