If having pets is a trial run for having kids (which for the purposes of this blog it most emphatically is), the last week has taught me I am ready for neither.
For the past week or so, I've been housesitting for my parents' while they are away on holiday - come at me burglars! - meaning I've had all the fun of running a household with the additional responsibility of caring after two cats; eating, shitting pain in the arses that I apparently can't help but love despite being completely and helplessly allergic to them.
There are also fish to look after but fish count as pets in the same way a pot plant does. Or any kind of plant for that matter.
Anyway, of the two cats, one is old and doddery and the other is young and mad as a bicycle so each presenting their own unique, engaging, glorious challenges.
The morning after the first night of petsitting, there lying at the bottom of the flight of stairs was a deposit that I'm fairly certain most human beings would not be able to pass. Seriously, if I wasn't so repulsed and annoyed, impressed would have been the only feeling to be expressing.
It was almost certainly done by the old, doddery one - the one who probably should know better, but either has selective memory on how a litter tray works or thinks it is a good laugh to pretend like he forgets, the bastard. I mean, you would definitely do that if you were a cat, wouldn't you?
Out came the scooper, the disinfectant, the scrubbing cleaning sponge thing and all that paraphernalia and before you knew it, clean hallway; disgusted, depressed Dan. Onwards we go.
Until that evening.
Surprise number two - cat water on the kitchen floor, in and around the bin. Out came the bucket and the gloves and the disinfectant and that stuff once again. And industrial amounts of Glade spray.
By this stage, I was honestly wondering how much a cattery costs for the week. I hadn't quite Googled it yet, but the thought was there. Or how much catnip it takes to stonk them out for seven days.
Fast forward four days and thankfully there were no more accidents (though the smell coming off their uneaten food at the end of every day was horrendously horrid) and it was time for a trip to the other half's for the weekend where she was dogsitting.
I'm growing to be a dog person - I've recently just about started to cope with them licking my face and in all fairness, they probably are more fun that cats - so I can cope with what they're all about.
Just to make sure he was alright and he could get to us if there was some sort of doggy crisis (unfortunately only felines have cat-astrophes), we slept with the door ajar.
The doggy crisis inevitably came, but clearly the crisis was that it was about 8.15 in the morning and I was still asleep. I'm not a fan of alarms at the best of times, but a cold, wet nose all over my facial features wasn't the most fun experience while groggy.
And, before we move on, there is nothing quite like a dog licking your face to extinguish morning glory - forget a cold shower, get a dog and get one that corresponds with how high your bed sits off the ground; probably no point getting a poodle if you have a four-poster...although they can jump up I guess...yeah, ignore the majority of this paragraph.
Come the end of the weekend and returning to the parents' house to get cracking on the inevitable pile of house husband shit that had piled up, SURPRISE, old, doddery one decides now is probably the best time to have a good old spray on the bin.
Seriously, the bin which I was stood about a foot away from with my back turned ready to show some cutlery who the boss was when it come to washing up.
Cue massive kick up the arse* and then deciding that wasn't enough and harrying him out of the door, shutting it behind him.
Gloves, disinfectant, yada, yadda. Then I repotted my bonsai tree to chill out, as that is exactly how I roll.
However, you probably won't be surprised to hear that this post has been written while old, doddery one is asleep by my side and I ended up playing with the dog for most of the weekend and taking him for walks.
Sigh, pets.
*If the RSPCA are reading this, it wasn't THAT massive. We're still friends, the pair of us. And he is sitting down without complaint.
