The following blog post is dedicated to our friend, John Erwood, who passed away unexpectedly a month ago.
He loved to laugh and play practical jokes.
Which is why I think he had a hand in the following scenario that occurred right before we left the house for his funeral on Saturday.
Rest well, Erwood. We’ll see you in The Morning!
Before we get into what exactly happened last Saturday, here is a little background. Our oldest cat, Phoebe who is 13, was diagnosed with a UTI by a new veterinarian last week. They gave her liquid amoxicillan with instructions to us to administer it twice a day for 2 weeks. Now here’s the thing, Phoebe HATES taking medicine but liquid we’d found at least when we mix it in to wet food, she’ll eat it. Not this stuff. So we had no choice but to implement Plan B which is basically channeling the Crocodile Hunter, closing off all the exits and while one person catches her as she runs by, the other one jams the syringe in her mouth to deliver the medicine.
At least it acts as a great ab work-out. 😛
So rewind to this past Saturday. Erwood’s funeral was at 11:30 and it was a 30-minute drive away. And we had two stops to make before we would even get there. Chad worked in the early morning and arrived home at 10:30 to help me give Phoebe her medicine and then we’d leave for the funeral. After blocking off all the exits and finding her, Chad goes to pick her up and she bolted underneath the living room furniture. After toppling the furniture, Phoebs made a run for it towards the kitchen, Chad in hot pursuit. As he picked her up, it happened.
Flowing forth like Willie Wonka’s Super Disgusting Chocolate Fountain.
As Chad stepped towards me, the poo continued to flow, defiling a large portion of our not-so-clean- anyway linoleum. As I grabbed a hold of Phoebe, poop rained down on my pants and shoes. That I would have to change before leaving for the funeral we were already late for.
We gave Phoebe her medicine and assessed the kitchen floor.
Yeah, we were gonna be late.
As we cleaned up ourselves and the floor, it happened. We ran out of paper towels.
Right before Chad suggested he’d run to the store to get paper towels, we tried mopping up the worst of the mess with toilet paper. Now, a word about our toilet paper:
It’s thin. Like ridiculously thin. Think the thinnest tissue wrapping paper known to man meets the width of a human hair.
Then we started to run out of toilet paper. So Chad left to get an emergency back up of more absorbent paper towel while I was left alone with defiled clothes and shoes, and puddles of linoleum poop from an angry cat who is no where to be found.
So we rolled into the memorial service so late we almost missed the closing prayer. Which I think Erwood would have understood.