Another Sunday in Paradise

When you’re 29 years old and living at home, it’s pretty safe to say that you’ve got it made. You’ve made all the right decisions in life and have put yourself into a position where you can afford to pay spiders ridiculous amounts of money for rent. I’ll ask all of my readers to please hold their jealous rants from the comments for now and try and focus their envy on something more productive like corn husking.

As if that wasn’t enough, I’ll further incur the wrath of the internet by telling you all that for the past week and a half, and for the next week and a half, I’ve had the place all to myself since my parents went on vacation. Since I only work 9 or 10 hours a day and have an hour commute each way, when you subtract the 6 hours a night that I sleep, that means I’ve got a solid 6 or 7 hours a day where I can do whatever I want with the place. Sounds pretty sweet right?

Yeah, that’s what I thought too until I found out that my list of activities is as follows:

1. Spend multiple hours cleaning up several pounds of cat hair left on the furniture and carpet by Spencer the cat. It’s really not that bad though because I only have to do it maybe once every other day and it only takes 2 or 3 hours…
2. Clean up all the kitty litter that Spencer that cat thought looked better outside the box rather than inside, with all the other litter. I guess this one isn’t really a necessity though, I mean, who really has a problem with stepping on partially used kitty litter with their bare feet right after they step out of the shower?
3. Two words: Cat. Vomit. It would seem as though Spencer has a binging problem, which is followed up by the more problematic purging issues he has. I guess I’m being kind of petty about this one though because at least 25% of the time he pukes on the kitchen floor rather than the living room carpet. And it’s really my fault in the first place for putting too much food on his plate.

I realize that most of those tasks sound pretty glamorous*, but once you get past the fact that your life is dominated by cat maintenance, you don’t feel so lucky any more and the star struck feeling you had before really wears off.

*Upon rereading this post, the author noticed that some readers may think that he doesn’t like cats or that he resents Spencer in some way. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Spencer and the author first met a little over 4 years ago. Spencer was a small, flea infested kitten running across the street and nearly getting hit by a car. The author was a young lad ridding his bike. Spencer dashed under a Ford Explorer in a nearby parking lot after his near miss in the street. The Author spent the next 45 minutes trying to coax him out of the wheel well of the Explorer. It took awhile, but Spencer was lured out and brought home where he has lived a happy life chasing bugs and generally harassing the other cats in the house.