I have no excuse for the fact that my house is still not clean. The girls were not here to distract me this morning. My husband had gone to the office and was not here to complain about the sound of the vacuum. I had no pressing engagements that prevented me from cleaning from the moment I woke up.
But who wants to clean from the moment they wake up?
What I wanted to do was to read a book, lounge in bed, and wait for the skies to clear to a beautiful clear blue. They never did clear, but instead of clear blue I did get cooler air, and it was a worthwhile trade off. As far as the book, I didn’t have one that I hadn’t read, and I wasn’t able to lounge in bed for more than a few minutes once the menagerie had awakened—not more than ten minutes after my husband cleared out for the day. So I dragged myself up and proceeded to procrastinate around the kitchen, cleaning things here and there until I discovered the source of the newest smell invading my house.
This smell had nothing to do with puppies, or geriatric Labradors, or animals at all. It was the smell of yesterday’s spinach fermenting in the pan it was cooked in. It should have been put away, or tossed out, but was neither. It was obviously overlooked in a rush to flee the kitchen and avoid the clean up last night. But as we all know, you can’t run away from your troubles, they catch up to you eventually. And when spinach catches up to you, you will wish you had run faster.
Lucky for me, Henry Chow was still festering in a corner from his run in with something brave enough to attack a ninja kitty in his natural habitat. Poor Henry Chow couldn’t be left to deteriorate in his favorite chair. I just had to abandon the spinach clean up to take the ninja kitty to the vet.
Lucky for me, I have a standing appointment at the vet these days.
As mangled as Henry Chow was, he was actually healing fairly nicely all on his own. His wounds were bad, but not as bad as they could have been. He was clearly the victor in his run in with whatever had been foolish enough to tangle with him. He had a bite mark on his front arm, and his back toes. I can only imagine what the other cat looked like. Then again, if I have to give him the horrible tasting antibiotics all week long, I may resemble that other cat in a few days time. He clearly didn’t appreciate having the liquid squirted into his mouth, and made his irritation known.
After exhausting all of my avoidance techniques, I was back in the house—vacuum attachments in hand—saving my hardwood floors from loose tufts of fur and fluff.
But what about cleaning that pot filled with rancid spinach?
Thank goodness a jar lid got jammed in the drain in the big sink. The pot will have to wait until tomorrow. The spinach is long gone…I’m not that big of a procrastinator. I don’t want to live with foul smells, or rotten food. A soaking pot I can live with. It will just be that much cleaner when I scrub it out…
Until the next time…I’ll be deliberating what to do first.