June 28, 2005

GPS

No no no, I'm not referring to a Global Positioning System. I'm talking Gross Pet Stories here.

If you have pets, much like children, you'll have stories to share. Some of them make you go "awww isn't that precious!" Others make you screw up your face in horror like you've just bitten into a piece of six day old sushi. Those are the stories that qualify for the GPS classification.

I have a GPS about Figero. It's probably the grossest pet story I have to tell about him. Put it this way: if you are ever fortunate enough to receive an invitation to dine at Casa de la Lesbiana Suburbana, you may remember this story and opt to decline. But hey, live on the edge people! Don't let a little Gross Pet Story deter you.

Figero always had a designated place on the kitchen counter to serve as his dining area. It kept his food up high away from the other four legged critters who seem to prefer cat kibbles over their own. What is up with that, anyway? Oh sure, the cat would occasionally munch on a little dog food but he would never scarf it completely down. The dogs, on the other hand, if left alone with cat food, would hoover it gone in a matter of minutes. Hence the elevated location of Figero's plate. Fig had given up jumping up onto anything high about a year or so ago. We adapted by lifting him up for his meals. He had no problem leaping down after dining.

Some folks think letting cats on the kitchen counter is gross. They are entitled to their opinion, of course. In some instances I'd even agree with them. I usually support the practical solutions, however, and in this case allowing the cat on the counter was the most practical solution available.

During my sister's recent visit with Nikita the Indian Princess, Figero spent a great deal of time up on the kitchen counter avoiding the disrespectful and persistently curious Nikita. Fig would hang out up there long after he'd finished his breakfast or dinner. One day I came home from work and found him curled up next to the stove. I raised an eyebrow, confused. Since he no longer could jump up onto the counter, he must have spent the entire day up there! I was slightly alarmed. I peered around the counters yet noticed nothing amiss. I whisked Figero down while Nikita was outside and sent him on his way.

Later that evening SK put the kettle on the stove to boil water. My sister drinks a lot of tea. Hot tea. Well. Maybe it's not tea she drinks. But she boils water for something. That's when the fun began.

Science has always bored me to tears. What happened that night as the stove heated up to boil SK's water was like some sort of ill-conceived science fair experiment gone wildly awry. Merely a few moments after she turned on the burner, we were all gasping for air. Our eyes watered and burned, squinting tightly against the mace-like pollution filling the house. Oh the stench! It smelled like our house been swirled directly into a well-used port-a-pottie on the Fourth of July on the DC Mall. 98 degrees, man. Blazing sun. High humidity. The whole nine yards. We retched in unison.

I glanced around wildly then ran toward the kitchen, waving my arms and shouting frantically. That frantic arm waving shouting stuff works wonders for solving problems. You should try it some time.

Have you figured out the punchline yet? Of course you have and you are undoubtably 100% correct.

There were puddles of cat piss in the burner drip pans on one side of the stove. Overflowing puddles of heated cat piss. In our kitchen. On our stove. Where we cook our food. The food we put in our mouths. Argh.

It wasn't obvious at first. There was no smell until the stove heated up. Why there was no smell, I don't know, but there wasn't. The burners drips pans are black enamel and the urine blended right in with the shiny surface. Who'da thunk it?

Some of us milled around the hot burner. Others flung open all the exterior doors to let in fresh air. I stopped shouting and cussed under my breath instead. We cleaned it up. Thoroughly. Now we try not to talk about it. I mean really. Yuck.

This story does, however, top my list of When Pets Cross the Line.
What story tops your list?

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10 comments:

Bent Fabric said...

LOL! Nothing I have can top that.

My cat eats his own puke. See, told you it wouldn't top yours.

Eyes said...

Bent Fabric -- My dog does the same thing -- and she rather enjoys it so I turn my head!! I wanna barf just thinking about it!

But this weekend, my husband squished a beautiful and unusual tree frog that we were admiring hours before. All of the sudden he noticed blood everywhere and he started moaning. Upon looking at the ground, we saw a deflated body. It was AWFUL!!!! I nearly cried.

Our cat once started peeing in our heat registers -- for months. That was nasty!!!! What stopped her? Our house burned down and she moved. That ended it. The only bonus of such a disaster :)

What we don't put up with with our furry kids :)

weese said...

thats a doozy.
we have one left to go...then we are going to try pet-less for awhile.

Sam said...

I don't have a pet right now, but I'd like to share a friend's story:

She has two cats, sisters, and one is more sociable than the other. One morning, the less sociable one, climbed onto my friends hip as she lay sleeping on her side in bed. My friend was happy to see Ms. Not-so-social there to wake her up. That is, until she saw Ms. Not-so-social was glaring at her and then proceeded to vomit all over her hip, glare again, and then walk away. You see, my friend had just changed their food from the yummy nutrious stuff bought at the vet to the more reasonably priced food from the grocery store. Ms. Not-so-social was not so impressed.

GuusjeM said...

Our cat, when she's mad at us pees in the toaster. We are on toaster #3 and I buy the cheapest ones I can find!

Eyes said...

HA!

I remembered another one. This will take the prize.

Our kitty Sammy loved to come and drink my ice tea during dinner. But we had to watch out, he HATED pork. Just the smell of it, caused him to gag (he must have been a piggy in a previous life).

Well one night after some ice tea, he got a whiff of my pork chop -- and lost it -- RIGHT THERE ON MY CHOP still sitting on my dinner plate -- uneaten!!

I about died.

Needless to say, I didn't eat dinner that night and when we had pork after that -- he wasn't allowed on the table :P

Aren't you glad you asked? Are you grossed out now?

That Girl said...

Riley the first (my son has named every dog we've ever had Riley) was so sick one night. He insisted on sleeping next to me in my bed. After his third pukefest in as many hours I ran out of both energy and clean sheets and just gave up, arranging my body around the puke spots. Dont worry, we both took a shower in the morning. But thats as GPS as I really want to get.

hopeful said...

I can't beat it, but I can add a gross one.

My Dad used to keep his boots in the closet. Of course, where else would you keep them? Our house was an old one, and the closet, as I recall, had no door on it. The boots were the high brown leather kind, Bean boots, that came almost up to his knee. Sometimes, when the dog had to go out in the middle of the night, and Dad was in a hurry, he's throw his coat on over his pjs, slip his boots on his bare feet, and grumble as he took the poor beastie out.

One night, I remember him telling the dog to go lie down, growling a bit under his breath about the damned dog, (whom we all truly adored, of course), and that he could hold it until morning, certainly not wanting to get dressed in the middle of a cold, snowy night.

My Dad got up with the dog that morning and slipped his bare feet into the boots only to find that the dog had left a warm little surprise in there for him!

How he didn't smell the scent of dog poop before he put the boot on, I will never know! I remember being really impressed that my Dad had managed to hop on one foot all the way to the shower, and really glad that I had not been awake through this early morning scene!

After that, though, the boots stayed in the back hall- behind a closed door.

moggiemomma said...

I have a good one. When our older dog (bichon/terrier mix we think) was a puppy, he came and lay on the sofa behind my partner's head. Ah, wasn't he cute - until he did a huge burp and it smelled like cat poop! The exclamation of "oh my god, he's not a boy, he's a dog!" has stuck in my mind ever since!

cleaning cat urine said...

WordsRock, Been looking on the web for the latest information on cat urine removal - saw your site clicked on it.Found GPS, maybe not a perfect match - but found it interesting anyway.. off to look for cat urine removal..