February 24, In Which I Step into Cat S**t


The alarm jangled me awake at six and I turned it off, and crawled out of bed to wake up Daniel. Another night of mediocre sleep had me deciding almost immediately that I’d wake up Daniel, and get back in bed. Let the lanky booger fend for himself, cook his own breakfast, and get himself to the school bus on time. Besides, I couldn’t think of a decent blog topic. I flicked on Daniel’s light, told him it was time to get up for school, and was making my way back to my side of the Ol’ California King. I was about a foot away from safety when I felt a cold and pasty presence underfoot, and immediately perceived an incredibly foul smell. I know what readers are thinking: a lawyer was in the room. No: it was not quite *that* bad. Let’s just say that I stepped in my blog topic.

Seldom has a human other than John Goodman felt the need to fight back the aggressively simultaneous urges to vomit and to go bowling–cat bowling in my case. We have two in the house, but more on the poopetrators of the crime in awhile.  First, I had to turn on the light to run, on tiptoe to the bathroom. I knew I stepped in something and didn’t want to clean up 10 feet of carpet.  I was cursed with the dubious powers of stupidity and scraped the cold pile off my foot with a finger and gave it a sniff.  Don’t ask: it was the same unknown force that made me drink eggs from a hot frying pan.  As if it really mattered, my half-asleep brain wanted to know if I’d stepped in cat crap, or cat barf.  That got the old gag reflex going, but I held back the urge to Exorcist the bathroom walls as I wiped my foot with about a half roll of toilet paper, turned on the bathroom sink, ran water until it was hot enough to scald my skin, and hiked my leg onto the bathroom counter. I scrubbed and scrubbed. Lots of soap. I feel unclean, and of course, a seething hatred toward cats.

I mentioned we have two of the critters.  I know it was the long-haired cat, Janey.  She sometimes wanders the house with butt-danglies that inevitably drop in the most inopportune places. She does it on purpose. She’s a regal punisher who barely tolerates us living in her condo.  The other one, Buddy, isn’t bright enough to be vindictive. He will stand on your chest, all 25+ pounds of cat meat weighing you into the mattress, and meow in your face for fifteen minutes. He needs a bicarbonate of soda.

A few weeks ago, I was teasing a friend who stepped barefoot on a glorious Oregon slug. For you nonbelievers, Oregon slugs reach 10-12 inches, are greenish yellow, and inhabit the forest floor like slimy detached goblin penises. Susan can’t even think of the word “slug” without becoming sick to her stomach.  For my teasing, I’m sorry, Susan. Truly. I think I have a lifetime of cat trauma to bury, so I’ll be walking on tiptoe for the next several hours.  I can still feel it sticking to me.

Cats:  Why?

My name is BrianJane and I approve of this message.

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6 thoughts on “February 24, In Which I Step into Cat S**t”

  1. OMG !!! I’m not sure what is more funny the thought of you step’n in shit or you hike’n your foot to the sink … try step’n in fresh Hen poop better yet try being in the middle of the yard when it happens and you are surounded by massive amounts . and cant figure out how in the hell to get back to the house ! 😉

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  2. Stepping in poop. Hmm, poop on my foot. No, nothing comes to mind. BUT, what I do think of is the time we woke in the middle of the night to runny dog crap ALL OVER the bedroom floor! The stench. I can still smell it and it’s been 2 1/2 years.

    My husband and I had each, unknowingly, given the dog several soft dog treats. And lesson learned, they need to be given in moderation. So it was about 2 am when I woke to the most awful smell in my room. Needless to say, I woke Brian right up. The dog was so embarrassed and ashamed. She promptly went outside while we tied scarves around our mouths and undertook the scrubbing of the carpet.

    It was all snowy and freezing outside, but we opened the door to the deck and the window to get fresh air. Together with big warm bowls of Oxiclean (we swear by it for all things nasty-related), we scrubbed roughly 20 piles/spots of crap out of the carpet. I’m pretty sure I refused to ever go barefoot in that room again. I just never looked at the floor the same again. My feet remained covered at all costs.

    And yes, the dog was quickly forgiven. It was apparent she tried to hold it…Now, our vindictive cat who peed all over our stuff….he was not so easily forgiven. Even in death I hold a grudge against him.

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  3. My cats are the picture of angelic innocence, and would never leave valuable random bodily fluids lying around where they could be stepped in. I am Queen Mab, and I approve of this message.

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  4. I have stepped in lots of things that will forever haunt my sole. 🙂 Things like dog and cat shit and vomit, and slugs (I remember slugs) *shivers*. I even stepped in Panama and my shoes made it to the trash can long before the trip was over. Lucky me has the added bonus of a gag reflex that is easily triggered. I usually end up cleaning more than the initial bit of yuck. Stepping in or on things is inevitable being that we are bipedal creatures. It is always worse in the dark where the element of surprise combined with the element of stench seems to bury itself forever in your subconscious leaving you tiptoeing around until you forget. Then it happens again. It always happens again, but if you are lucky (I use the term loosely) it will be the smell that awakens you before the alarm clock. Thus giving you fair warning that something icky is lurking in the dark. I woke to a foul smell just this morning. Yay for olfactory senses!

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  5. I, too, being the unfortunate individual who stepped on that slug, approve of this message. I was laughing out loud in dispatch, glad that I had waited to read your blog until my patrol officer returned to the streets! I am sorry to inform you that the memory of the squishing sensation will be with you pretty much forever. I can see a slug and gag, remembering all too well the cold, sticky sliminess of it on the bottom of my bare foot, and its resistance to being removed from said foot. I’m pretty sure that if I stepped on a slug today, wearing my favorite expensive shoes, I would throw away the desecrated shoe before I would attempt to clean it…but, thankfully, I have yet to test that theory. Thanks, once again, for making me laugh out loud! 🙂

    P. S. Sorry about the cat shit. Sort of. 😉

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