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possumcowboyThis is due to the fact that there are four (that's four) commercial-grade, industrial, professional, contractor-type hair-dryer shaped fans going. Not to mention the dehumidifier.
See, this one cat we have, Sally, she thinks she's a princess or something.
The cleaning lady. She was here on Tuesday. You know, to clean and stuff. She likes to leave the drain plugs pulled to the "fill the sink up" position. I don't know why, and I suppose that the "why" really isn't part of this story. Suffice it to say, when she left after cleaning on Tuesday, the drain plug puller-thingy behind the faucet lever was in the up position, which causes the drain plug to be in the "fill the sink up" position. Got that? Mkay.
So, this cat. Sally, I may have mentioned, is her name. Leah and Nathan rescued her from a shelter when she was just a tiny sweet little kitteny thing. Apparently this wasn't enough of an effort from them. Sally doesn't appreciate being touched by people. At all. I have several gashes on my abdomen at the moment from the last time I attempted to carry her from one room to another. That same encounter got me bitten on the webby part of the hand between my ring and pinky finger. The worst part? The worst part? I'm out of Superman band-aids. I had to have a plain old beige boring band-aid after being mauled by this vicious 12-pound blue-point calico beast! I...I...not sure I can go on...
*sigh*
Very well. Sally finds the stainless steel bowl in which we put fresh water each day to be far too pedestrian for her refined taste. Let us not dwell on the fact that she regularly licks her own bottom; the shining surgical-grade cleanliness of fresh water which has been lovingly provided for her to partake simply doesn't represent the proper level of devotion. Or some such tripe. I'm only using conjecture, at this point, because Sally won't even look at me to express what her issue with the bowl is. Maybe it's because we keep it on the floor, or something. No point quibbling over the point that two-thirds of the feline life-forms in this domicile find this hydration station to be sufficient to their need to keep a proper amount of fluids in their body systems.
Sally, usually after cleansing her own rectum, would prefer to rinse out her mouth with only the freshest of tap water. I fill the stainless steel cat bowl with water from the filtered spigot on the refrigerator, because I want my kitties to have fresh, clean, filtered water to drink. As best as I can figure, Sally prefers the chemical taste of the tap water to help remove that brown flavor which I imagine must be stuck in the little rough patches of her tongue.
Sally has figured out how to head-butt the water-flow lever in the master bathroom from the "we don't need water right now" position to the "holy mother of god the world is on fire and this is the only source of water" position. Now, when you search youtube for "cat drinking from the faucet" you'll get all kinds of cute videos showing all kinds of cute cats drinking from all kinds of cute faucets. All kinds of cute, there, right? What they don't show you, though, is the person shutting off the water after they're done taking the video of "Fluffy Getting Her Own Drink".
Sometimes Sally head-butts the faucet to the "just enough of a trickle to splash some moisture into the basin" position. Other times, the thing erupts like somebody gave Mt. St. Helens several tons of laxatives. By which I mean, full-blast water shooting out as hot as the plumber is allowed to set the water heater.
A bathroom sink basin holds a fair bit of water, to be sure, but this one doesn't have an overflow. Go check your sink. Go ahead, I'll wait...Did you feel around? Did you find the little hole at the top of the sink basin? That's connected to the drain, and it's there in case you were to inadvertently leave the water running with the drain plug pulled. It's there to protect your home from water damage. It's there on almost every sink...except the one in our master bathroom.
Did I mention that the cleaning lady left the drain plug plugged in the drain? I did? Just checking. The airliner sound sort of washes your brain free of anything resembling mental acuity. Sort of makes me want stale coffee and a packet of broken pretzels, too.
So. With nobody home, Sally finishes giving herself a rim-job, and probably sniffs at the other two cats who are gratefully sipping from the stainless steel bowl which has been lovingly placed at cat-lips level for them to enjoy. (Did you know that Bonnie and Clyde, the other two cats, were strays? Yep. Rescued from certain death before they were much more than balls of warm belly-button lint with tails). She probably then (I'm re-creating the scene in my mind) sashays (sashay verb -- to walk in an ostentatious yet casual manner, typically with exaggerated movements of the hips and shoulders) down the hallway with an insouciant air of entitlement, pops herself up to the counter top of the bathroom vanity, and begins nuzzling the faucet handle. It probably doesn't go right at once, so she gives it another shove, and then starts to get irritated and really puts some of her weight into it, and the faucet begins to furiously pump water from the heating tank in the garage, all the way down the length of the house, to where she awaits. She rinses her mouth out delicately, has a few dainty sips of water, and then leans over the side of the vanity, puts her paws halfway down and allows the rest of herself to succumb to gravity and gracefully lands on the floor. From there, she most likely saunters from the bathroom to her "special spot" at the foot of the bed, curls her front paws under and allows her eyes to close. She enters a state of Sen-Za meditation, as cats are wont to do.
Some time later, Leah's mother and Nathan get home, and they hear the delicate tinkle of Niagra Falls coming from our bedroom, and go in there to find water waist-deep to a chihuahua. Yeah, that isn't very deep. It's still a couple of inches, though, which is bad when your house is built on a concrete slab.
So, at 10:30 on a school night, Leah and I are pulling drawers out of the vanity, drying off each item, mopping the moisture out of the drawers, and putting them to dry in the bathtub. We also called the insurance company. They sent people out during the day on Wednesday.
Those people removed the vanity. They removed baseboards, peeled back carpet, cut out carpet padding and drywall, and checked things out. Then, they brought in the stuff I mentioned way, way up there at the beginning of this diatribe.
My point in writing all this, and I do have one (a point, I mean) is that I don't want any crap from any of you when, in the next few days, I happen to post something about the success of my newest recipe, "Crispy Calico with Garlic Sauce, served with rice pilaf, wilted greens and a hot bacon dressing." I need to go put my seat-back and tray-table in the full upright position. I'm about to land back in my bed.
See, this one cat we have, Sally, she thinks she's a princess or something.
The cleaning lady. She was here on Tuesday. You know, to clean and stuff. She likes to leave the drain plugs pulled to the "fill the sink up" position. I don't know why, and I suppose that the "why" really isn't part of this story. Suffice it to say, when she left after cleaning on Tuesday, the drain plug puller-thingy behind the faucet lever was in the up position, which causes the drain plug to be in the "fill the sink up" position. Got that? Mkay.
So, this cat. Sally, I may have mentioned, is her name. Leah and Nathan rescued her from a shelter when she was just a tiny sweet little kitteny thing. Apparently this wasn't enough of an effort from them. Sally doesn't appreciate being touched by people. At all. I have several gashes on my abdomen at the moment from the last time I attempted to carry her from one room to another. That same encounter got me bitten on the webby part of the hand between my ring and pinky finger. The worst part? The worst part? I'm out of Superman band-aids. I had to have a plain old beige boring band-aid after being mauled by this vicious 12-pound blue-point calico beast! I...I...not sure I can go on...
*sigh*
Very well. Sally finds the stainless steel bowl in which we put fresh water each day to be far too pedestrian for her refined taste. Let us not dwell on the fact that she regularly licks her own bottom; the shining surgical-grade cleanliness of fresh water which has been lovingly provided for her to partake simply doesn't represent the proper level of devotion. Or some such tripe. I'm only using conjecture, at this point, because Sally won't even look at me to express what her issue with the bowl is. Maybe it's because we keep it on the floor, or something. No point quibbling over the point that two-thirds of the feline life-forms in this domicile find this hydration station to be sufficient to their need to keep a proper amount of fluids in their body systems.
Sally, usually after cleansing her own rectum, would prefer to rinse out her mouth with only the freshest of tap water. I fill the stainless steel cat bowl with water from the filtered spigot on the refrigerator, because I want my kitties to have fresh, clean, filtered water to drink. As best as I can figure, Sally prefers the chemical taste of the tap water to help remove that brown flavor which I imagine must be stuck in the little rough patches of her tongue.
Sally has figured out how to head-butt the water-flow lever in the master bathroom from the "we don't need water right now" position to the "holy mother of god the world is on fire and this is the only source of water" position. Now, when you search youtube for "cat drinking from the faucet" you'll get all kinds of cute videos showing all kinds of cute cats drinking from all kinds of cute faucets. All kinds of cute, there, right? What they don't show you, though, is the person shutting off the water after they're done taking the video of "Fluffy Getting Her Own Drink".
Sometimes Sally head-butts the faucet to the "just enough of a trickle to splash some moisture into the basin" position. Other times, the thing erupts like somebody gave Mt. St. Helens several tons of laxatives. By which I mean, full-blast water shooting out as hot as the plumber is allowed to set the water heater.
A bathroom sink basin holds a fair bit of water, to be sure, but this one doesn't have an overflow. Go check your sink. Go ahead, I'll wait...Did you feel around? Did you find the little hole at the top of the sink basin? That's connected to the drain, and it's there in case you were to inadvertently leave the water running with the drain plug pulled. It's there to protect your home from water damage. It's there on almost every sink...except the one in our master bathroom.
Did I mention that the cleaning lady left the drain plug plugged in the drain? I did? Just checking. The airliner sound sort of washes your brain free of anything resembling mental acuity. Sort of makes me want stale coffee and a packet of broken pretzels, too.
So. With nobody home, Sally finishes giving herself a rim-job, and probably sniffs at the other two cats who are gratefully sipping from the stainless steel bowl which has been lovingly placed at cat-lips level for them to enjoy. (Did you know that Bonnie and Clyde, the other two cats, were strays? Yep. Rescued from certain death before they were much more than balls of warm belly-button lint with tails). She probably then (I'm re-creating the scene in my mind) sashays (sashay verb -- to walk in an ostentatious yet casual manner, typically with exaggerated movements of the hips and shoulders) down the hallway with an insouciant air of entitlement, pops herself up to the counter top of the bathroom vanity, and begins nuzzling the faucet handle. It probably doesn't go right at once, so she gives it another shove, and then starts to get irritated and really puts some of her weight into it, and the faucet begins to furiously pump water from the heating tank in the garage, all the way down the length of the house, to where she awaits. She rinses her mouth out delicately, has a few dainty sips of water, and then leans over the side of the vanity, puts her paws halfway down and allows the rest of herself to succumb to gravity and gracefully lands on the floor. From there, she most likely saunters from the bathroom to her "special spot" at the foot of the bed, curls her front paws under and allows her eyes to close. She enters a state of Sen-Za meditation, as cats are wont to do.
Some time later, Leah's mother and Nathan get home, and they hear the delicate tinkle of Niagra Falls coming from our bedroom, and go in there to find water waist-deep to a chihuahua. Yeah, that isn't very deep. It's still a couple of inches, though, which is bad when your house is built on a concrete slab.
So, at 10:30 on a school night, Leah and I are pulling drawers out of the vanity, drying off each item, mopping the moisture out of the drawers, and putting them to dry in the bathtub. We also called the insurance company. They sent people out during the day on Wednesday.
Those people removed the vanity. They removed baseboards, peeled back carpet, cut out carpet padding and drywall, and checked things out. Then, they brought in the stuff I mentioned way, way up there at the beginning of this diatribe.
My point in writing all this, and I do have one (a point, I mean) is that I don't want any crap from any of you when, in the next few days, I happen to post something about the success of my newest recipe, "Crispy Calico with Garlic Sauce, served with rice pilaf, wilted greens and a hot bacon dressing." I need to go put my seat-back and tray-table in the full upright position. I'm about to land back in my bed.