I Almost Considered Performing A Nosectomy

At 12:47 am Sunday morning I was awakened by a scent most foul.

And just in case you're thinking, "Why, Robin, what scent could have been foul enough to wake you from the deepest and most pleasantest of slumbers?" LET ME TELL YOU WHAT THAT SCENT COULD BE.

Cat Shit.

And not just any Cat Shit. FOUL Cat Shit. Cat Shit SO FOUL it'll make you scramble for the gas mask before you even have a second to ponder where the Foul Cat Shit might be hiding.

So I turned on the bedside lamp whilst covering my nose with the top sheet. I glanced around the room. No outright evidence of the Cat Shit. Must make an under-the-bed inspection.

Under-the-bed inspection: COMPLETE. No sign of Foul Cat Shit.

I plod down the hallway, flicking the light switch as I go. Again, no physical evidence found to indicate WHERE OH WHERE the gag-inducing smell was emanating. So I walk into the kitchen. I check inside cabinets, on top of the refrigerator, under the table, in the sink. I open the door to the back porch, checking for dead animals covered in Cat Shit.

Back in the house, I wander through the living room, checking behind the couch, the chair, the bookcases. I open the doors to the armoire. I lift up corners of the rug.

NOTHING.

I head back to my room, lavender room spray in hand. I spray continuously through the hallway, giving a good squirt into the kitchen. I spray my bedcovers, my sheets, the floor, the closet, the dresser, the ceiling, ANYTHING THAT LOOKS LIKE IT COULD BE HARBORING THE FOUL CAT SHIT SMELL.

Minutes go by. The smell is gone, I think. Perhaps it was just a weird paranormal phenomenon. One that floats through the world leaving the smell of viciously offensive poo in it's wake.

So I cuddle back under the covers, gagging a bit on the heavy lavender smell I've managed to spray on every available surface. My eyes start to close, the lamp is flicked off. Dreams of sugarplums dance in my head. Pretty pretty sugarplums. Sugarplums covered in crystallized sugar. Tasty. Oh so tasty. Oh, NOOOO. The abominable Brown Snowman is coming towards the sugarplums! He's covering them up! Covering them up with his smelly brown snow! OH GOD THE SMELL.

I sit straight up in bed and stare directly into the glowing green eyes of The Fat One. I grab for the cell phone- I've only been asleep for 30 minutes! And the smell OH MY GOD THE SMELL IS BACK. Again, I flick on the bedside lamp, illuminating my seemingly pristine bedroom. The Fat One continues sitting on the end of the bed. He is unnaturally still. He starts walking towards me. Only, only- he's not really walking, per se. His front paws are the only paws moving. The back paws are tucked firmly beneath his belly, his kitty booty planted snugly against my comforter.

This is weird, I think. Why is my cat walking like that? We make eye contact. He continues walking towards me with his half-gait.

It's then that I realize THE SMELL IS GETTING STRONGER OH MY GOD THE SMELL IS COMING FROM THE CAT, THE CAT IS HARBORING THE FOUL CAT SHIT SMELL WHAT AM I TO DO I'M THROWING UP IN MY MOUTH.

I immediately grab the cat by the scruff of his neck, lifting him up to expose his furry belly. A belly which is matted, YES, MATTED, with brown foul-ness. I lift him completely off the bed, where I notice that he's left a trail of brown substance on my comforter. I can feel myself starting to shake. The smell is unbelievable, my pretty comforter COVERED in Foul Cat Shit and my cat is somehow managed to get smearable, projectile-like diarrhea ALL OVER HIMSELF.

I continue holding him by the scruff and carry him into the bathroom. I strip the shower curtain aside, yank up the bath mat and slam the door shut. I turn on the faucet full-force, fill the tub with warm water and shove him ASS FIRST into the tub. I pour rose-scented soap all over his furry body and use my loofah to scrub the poo-covered areas. He scrambles to get away but I WILL BE DAMNED if I let him go before every last trace of skank is gone from his body.

I drain and refill the tub three more times, the water is that rank. I hold up The Fat One's tail and push his booty directly into the stream of water, hoping the running water will shake off any last residual pieces. I finally deem The Fat One to be poo-free and grab a towel from under the sink, wrapping his squirmy, furry, rat-looking body in the blue terrycloth.

I throw the loofah away.

After towel-drying The Fat One I lay down six or seven towels in the foyer so he can (hopefully) use them to dry off instead of utilizing my rug/chair/bed.

It's 2:30am.

I head back to my bed and am quickly reminded that my cat has left a trail of smeared presents on my comforter. I decide it's too late to do anything but wad it up and seal it in a garbage bag. I grab an extra blanket from the linen closet and spread it on the bed, my eyes drooping from tiredness and over-exhaustion of the olfactory glands. I climb in bed for the THIRD TIME that evening and hit the lamp switch.
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I woke up at 7:30 am Sunday morning (yes, that would be a total of five hours of sleep) to get ready for work, intent on beating my cat's ass into next week for smearing foul poo all over my comforter and for forcing me to soil my one good loofah on his crap-encrusted ass.

HERE'S WHERE I GOT REALLY PISSED OFF.

When I woke up I found Llama (The Fat One) curled by my hip, his furry head resting on his paws. Just as I opened my mouth to lay into his ass, informing him of JUST HOW MUCH IT COSTS TO DRY CLEAN COMFORTERS and HOW MUCH I HATE HAVING MY SLEEP DISTURBED BY CATS WHO ARE COVERED IN FOUL CAT SHIT he raised his sleepy kitten eyes and gave me a look of such profound pitifulness I stopped in mid-yell. He gingerly got up and crawled towards my face, where he gave me a little kitten-nose nudge, and then delicately lowered himself back down on the blanket. He looked so sad and sickly and sorry and cute and furry that I JUST COULD NOT BE MAD.

And that totally pissed me off.