"Tell Me That's Not Cat Puke"

Any conversation that begins with that one isn't headed anywhere good.

Got home from a weekend away and found the bedroom door open.  This was somewhat disappointing as the cat is generally not allowed in the bedroom when I'm not home, but, hey, I'm not going to freak out over a pillow out of place or a little...

Tell me that's not cat puke.

In a big pile, right in the middle of my comforter.  (The green and lilac comforter I just redecorated my room around.  That comforter.)  Big puddle of cat puke.  I'm not up to carbon dating the stuff, but it has a consistency that suggests it isn't exactly fresh.

Oddly, I do not freak out about this.  I have two thoughts:  (1)  Hey, at least it wasn't the brand new carpet; and (2)  Why am I not freaking out about this?  I don't want to give my mother any ideas or anything, but I think I'm starting to understand one (small, tiny little) thing about parenting -- there's this sort of calm that takes over when someone you dearly love accidentally does something that, if anyone else did it, would really piss you off.  I mean, here I am with cat puke all over my comforter, and when I see the kitten, my first thought is to get down on the floor with her, pet her little body, and say, "Aw, poor baby has an upset tummy?"

Yeah, well, if she did it on purpose, that'd be a different story.  But my Purry Little Princess gets the benefit of the doubt.  Poor widdle thing.

So, after application of Cat Mess Wipes (which don't do much good for the stain in the middle of the comforter), I take off the comforter cover planning to put it in the washing machine.  I see the puke has gone clear through the comforter as well, and think maybe I ought to wash that, too.  I stick the comforter in the washer, and go the kitchen to grab a Coke.

The fridge is open.  Not a lot, but a little.  The Coke is warm.  I have no idea how long the fridge has been open, but I'm sure my electric bill will have something to say about it.  I am seriously ticked about my house/cat sitters -- I mean, really, bedroom door open, puke on comforter, refrigerator open ... these are the sort of things that I have a friend watching my place to AVOID.

I sit down at the computer and try to find that calm I had a few minutes before. 

The doorbell rings.  I half-expect the neighbor/cat sitter, saying something like, "sorry about the cat vomit, but I couldn't find the wipes." 

It is my downstairs neighbor.  My washing machine, stuffed to the gills with my comforter, has managed to do something to my neighbor's pipes, and is sending water out their air conditioning vent.  This can't be good.

Normally, I'm all about postponing the laundry until the problem is under control, but, you know, did I mention the cat puke on my comforter?

Neighbor asked me to give him a few minutes to try to shut down the water at his end or something.  I, of course, oblige -- turning off the washer.  It's been about a half hour and he hasn't come back up yet.  Which means that, even if I get it restarted now, I'm not going to be able to go to sleep till around 1:00 a.m.

Argh.

Where did that nice, even, peaceful mood go?