Mr. Fix-It shares tales of woe
Already late or a meeting, I pulled into the garage to feed the dogs and noticed the rather large puddle near the entry door. And under the water heater.
On further review, I find that the water heater is leaking.
But I need to feed and let the girls relive themselves, so I leave the water heater for the house, where I have to dodge piles of cat vomit.
I do not have time for this.
It is as if Linda Blair has visited my home playing Regan MacNeil from The Exorcist and projectile vomited in the name of Satan himself.
(Technically, no, they are not my cats. And shit like this moves them one step closer to a trip to the city animal shelter, no mater how horrible and cruel that sounds.)
I mopped up the spewage, duct taped the faulty seal on the water heater - Mr. Fix-It has at the ready, at all times, duct tape and Super Glue - and made my appointment.
Knowing that the situation at home would only deteriorate.
I have but two houseplants left in my house. I love houseplants. So do the vermin known as the cats. I can no longer keep houseplants to decorate my abode. Unless they are very high up, or I keep them in places where the door usually is kept shut. Like the bathroom. Where I found my dieffenbacia had been gnawed on. The plant is poisonous to pets, of course. But the little shits can't seem to remember that fact.
I just suspended their food for a day.
And turned attentions to the water heater. Where it is simply a matter of getting a new hose, shutting off the water and replacing it.
In-between all the other, normal, day-to-day things I need to get done today.
So, why not go over to the Meat-Eating Robot and peruse some delicious hominy recipes (better yet, please leave one of your own, I know he would appreciate it) or just watch this Christmas video, which I think is the best rendition of Little Drummer Boy:
On further review, I find that the water heater is leaking.
But I need to feed and let the girls relive themselves, so I leave the water heater for the house, where I have to dodge piles of cat vomit.
I do not have time for this.
It is as if Linda Blair has visited my home playing Regan MacNeil from The Exorcist and projectile vomited in the name of Satan himself.
(Technically, no, they are not my cats. And shit like this moves them one step closer to a trip to the city animal shelter, no mater how horrible and cruel that sounds.)
I mopped up the spewage, duct taped the faulty seal on the water heater - Mr. Fix-It has at the ready, at all times, duct tape and Super Glue - and made my appointment.
Knowing that the situation at home would only deteriorate.
I have but two houseplants left in my house. I love houseplants. So do the vermin known as the cats. I can no longer keep houseplants to decorate my abode. Unless they are very high up, or I keep them in places where the door usually is kept shut. Like the bathroom. Where I found my dieffenbacia had been gnawed on. The plant is poisonous to pets, of course. But the little shits can't seem to remember that fact.
I just suspended their food for a day.
And turned attentions to the water heater. Where it is simply a matter of getting a new hose, shutting off the water and replacing it.
In-between all the other, normal, day-to-day things I need to get done today.
So, why not go over to the Meat-Eating Robot and peruse some delicious hominy recipes (better yet, please leave one of your own, I know he would appreciate it) or just watch this Christmas video, which I think is the best rendition of Little Drummer Boy:
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