February 18, 2008

Pooped in More Ways than One

I spent the morning following the girls around and cleaning up mess after mess after mess. It’s simply amazing how they can wreck a place in less than 10 minutes. In the time it takes me to organize one closet, they’ve destroyed the rest of the house completely.

With only 10 minutes until my realtor was supposed to show up with his marketing assistant and our "For Sale" sign, I decided to check the only room I hadn’t checked all day. . . the basement.

I walked in and was greeted with piles of puke from my lovely cat, Bear. He has major health problems. He’ll go for months without an issue. Of course he picks today to have one. I started cleaning up one spot, only to find one after another after another.

Then I found something even more "pleasant" than puke.

Poop.

Fabulous.

Mr. BBM had mentioned to me that the cats somehow got a hold of a bag of treats. When Mr. BBM found the bag, it was shredded and all the treats were gone. I’m thinking the treats must have been like those "WOW" potato chips of a few years ago that made you think you could eat a whole bag, only to discover that if you did, there would be some serious Montezuma’s revenge that would send you worshipping the porcelein gods with your butt. (You should know that I never tried those chips. If you don’t believe me, just ask Adam. I sent him lard friend potato chips for Christmas. I don’t take short-cuts when it comes to potato chips.)

So back to the basement. . . there I am, walking around the basement finding one surprise after another with my spray bottle of bleach and paper towels cursing Mr. BBM for being at work and my cat for getting sick NOW. Seriously? Now? Then the phone rings. It’s my realtor. He’s running 30 minutes late. Thank God. . .

Because that was almost the exact moment that I found more surprises behind the water heater. Like an ACL replacement recoveree is going to be able to get on her hands and knees and get back there!

I did my best, pretty much sprayed my whole basement with bleach and scrubbed while bent in half. When my realtor arrived, I still had to clean up yet another pile of puke to clear the path for his assistant to check out our crawl space.

I seriously must be nuts to be trying to sell my home with a 2-year old in the house and a cat with health problems. What was I thinking?

We still haven’t heard back on our counter, which was pretty much not a counter but more like a "we’re standing our ground." I realize keeping your fingers crossed is sort of counter-productive if you have a job where you need your hands, but I sure would appreciate it whenever you have the time to cross them.