That's a lot of shit

For the entirety of this month I have felt like a black cloud was constantly overhead raining piles of shit on the top of me and on top of everything that I did. No matter the circumstance, shit cloud would find me. I am not superstitious or anything, but for it to get this bad, I must have walked under thousands of ladders and broken a plethora of mirrors. Yeah, a plethora. That's how unfortunate I am. But I think after what happened last night, shit cloud will give me a break.

Firstly, I love animals, especially cats. When I was little, I was constantly begging to keep strays, so most of our animals weren't from the pet store- we collected hobos. But now that I'm older, the things that used to excite me don't excite me as much anymore. Birthdays are days that signify just how close to death I really am. Easter eggs no longer have anything inside of them worth hunting for. Christmas can wait until I've had a decent cup of coffee. So you would think that Dad surprising Mom with a cat would be, well, ho hum. But I squealed, I ran to the door, and I bounced up and down until my Dad came inside. Felines bring out my inner five-year-old.

"He shit himself in the carrier. The cat is covered in shit," he announced, bringing a wave of the cat poo aroma into the house with him.

That's when my excitement wavered and I was suddenly an unenthusiastic adult again, because I knew that I would play assistant in the operation that was about to commence: Operation: Bathe Chocolate Covered Kitty. 

At first we tried to clean him outside, but the poo was all dry and stuck to his fur, so that was a vain effort. Instead, Mom and I moved the foul, yet completely adorable addition to our family into the bath tub, but not without a strategy. (A strategy that did not take into consideration that cats think that water is the Devil.)

First Mom would get into the tub with kitty and hold him down while I poured soap into her hands so she could wash him without having to let go. After he was clean, I would wrap him in a towel and dry him off. It sounded simple enough until Mom realized that she would be standing in poo soup for the majority of the operation, but that epiphany came to her a little too late. She probably didn't expect kitty to climb her either, but the job got done and we both came out alive. Only I could no longer breathe and Mom was bleeding profusely. I can't imagine how many shots she might need from all of that exposure to kitty excretion. That shit was all over the place. Literally.

Shit cloud is ruthless.

So kitty was clean and Mom instructed me to do my share of the work and grab a towel. I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped kitty in it. By that time he was exhausted from fighting and just wanted to be out of the damn water and dry. So I'm holding kitty to me to keep him warm, snuggling him, not realizing that Mom is still standing in the shit water staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"That's the- ppffffhahahahaha!"

"What?!"

"That's the towel I carried him in here with!"

"BLARRRRGGGGGGG!"

No, I didn't throw up, but I wanted to. At that point, the shit cloud metaphor became literal.

I was covered in shit.

After all was said and done and everyone was sterilized, the energy died down as we decorated the Christmas tree and watched Elf. We managed to trap the poo smell in my parents' room and bathroom, which Dad wasn't too happy about, but I was just glad that shit cloud was quarantined. Maybe then I would have a little peace. But even though shit cloud was being held prisoner, another bad luck symbol of a different consistency but of the same nature was out to get my Mother.

All I could hear was the front door opening as she was letting the dog out and Mom screaming, "FROG IN THE HOUSE!" I, of course, burst out laughing and didn't help her because I am a terrible daughter and I deserve nothing but coal in my stocking. That's when the door slammed and she ran into the kitchen with her hands out in front of her.

"What?!" I cried.

"IT PEED ON ME!"

"OH MY GOD THAT SMELLS TERRIBLE!"

Yes. That was my response, accompanied by me running in the opposite direction of my Mother, who proceeded to chase me with the towel she wiped her hands off on after she washed them. I know, she washed her hands, but still. Ew. My first instinct was to run into another room and hide, which I did, only it was the room that smelled like shit. So the whole house smelled of frog piss and cat shit.

To summarize, Dad got my Mom a shit covered cat for Christmas.

There's nothing like claw marks and an active gag reflex to really kick in that holiday spirit.

Merry Christmas everyone, and may it be a shit-free one!