Who Peed in My Pants?!

I was going through my drafts, because it's cluttered in this back end, y'all ... there are so many brain dumps that never actually made it to the blog. And I found this never-before-seen gem that I thought I'd share, because I swear this type of weird shit happens to me all the time.

So let's hop in our time machines and travel back eight years, nearly to the day — when Corbin (who's now a 7th grader) was in preschool and our cat Vanessa (who's now 11 years old and mostly goes by Nessa these days!) was just an un-spayed young lady with a peeing problem.

PS (or should I say pee-S? Har har har) ... she's been spayed since this was written. Problem resolved!

October 19, 2016

Pssst ... you guys.

I'm writing this from inside the library, where I am literally trapped because it's the weekly preschool storytime and parents can't just ditch their kids and go to happy hour. (I know. Bummer.)

Anyway, this blog post is being written in haste and fueled by the paranoia of harsh judgment from the other parents who are surrounding me right now. Because ...

... I stink.

OMG. I freaking stink.

Let me explain.

First of all, our cat Vanessa has not been spayed yet (I stress yet, since this incident will surely become a catalyst for a call to the vet). And she's currently in heat, which is annoying for ten bazillion reasons - but the worst part of all is that she pees on our shit while she's in heat.

Luckily she doesn't pee on the carpet or the furniture. BUT. If there's anything left laying around (and there always is - HELLO, FOUR KIDS!), it gets marked by Vanessa and her disgusting cat urine. Backpacks, blankets, shoes, homework, you name it - if it's laying flat on a surface that Nessa can reach, she's gonna piss all over it like someone is paying her. I'm constantly washing something.

And speaking of washing, that brings us to the second point of my story: my beloved black LuLaRoe leggings that I don't put in the dryer because I don't want to dry all the soft leggingy goodness out of them.

Last night when I switched the laundry from the washer, I spread my leggings across the top of the dryer to air dry.

The dryer that Vanessa sometimes sleeps on top of.

You see where I'm going with this, don't you?

Today I had been busy all day - mowing my yard, folding laundry, cleaning out the turtle's tank (my life is enviably glamorous, innit?). So when I looked at the clock and realized it was almost time to leave for preschool storytime at the library - our Wednesday ritual - and I was still in my grassy mowing clothes, I had to haul ass. So I grabbed the closest pair of pants, which were - you guessed it - my leggings.

Now, seeing as our legs are pretty far from our noses, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until we got to the library. I saw Corbin to the preschool room and hauled my laptop to this very table, in the middle of this group of other parents, sat down, and started working.

It only took about two minutes before I caught an unfortunate whiff. If you've ever smelled cat piss, you know it's an unmistakable odor which can only be described as ... I don't know, rancid burnt peanuts or something. It's nasty, is what I'm saying. And immediately I knew it had to be coming from me. But from where? I sniffed discreetly at the shoulders of my shirt. It smells fine. I bent my head toward my lap and inhaled again, but I couldn't smell anything. So, on the guise of getting something out of my purse, I quickly pressed my nose to my thigh.

Nothing.

Yet the cat pee smell keeps coming. I smell it in waves. It's like my body heat is intensifying it. And I would bet money that it's coming from my leggings - but I can't be positive which part of them until I whip them off and sniff them all over. And, well, I can't really do that in the library, lest I be branded some kind of pantsless legging-sniffing freak.

Even if I go to the bathroom to find out where the smell is coming from, what good would it do me? I can't leave to change them. And if I rinse them off, I'll emerge from the bathroom with a huge wet spot on my pants that nobody will know is water. No bueno.

So. Here I am. Stuck in the library, hammering away at my keyboard pretending to be oblivious to the fact that MY PANTS ARE MARINATED IN CAT URINE OMG.

To make matters worse? One of the moms was just glancing over my shoulder at my screen ... as I searched for images of cat litter to use with this post. Sigh.

Might as well add insult to injury, right?