(I don't feel like writing today, so I'm handing the reins over to my new life coach. Please welcome Miss Prissy Spiffup, my guest blogger.)
To say the least, I was just not prepared for what met me when I stepped in Madame B's sty home. To be fair, it doesn't quite qualify for Clean House or the BBC's How Clean is Your House. There's still walking space, the kitchen is usable and I did not feel the need to use a fire hose. But...the woman does need help.
After what I thought was a tiny dog attacked my purse, I decided that the pets needed attention first. (Later I discovered that it was just a rolling ball of Golden Retriever fur that had self-animated. No teeth.) Five...yes, count them, five cats. Oh.my.gawd. Cats. I rounded up the cat cages and was attempting to remove these offenders from the premises when simultaneously, one of them sunk four-inch long claws (I swear I saw these things in Jurassic Park) into my back, another one defecated in my purse (and then chased the fur ball across the great room), and yet a third vomited on my Pradas, whilst the two Siamese sat atop the china cabinet and laughed at me. Why was I suddenly reminded of Lady and the Tramp?
Okay, so the cats stay, but I banished them to the garage and turned around and was promptly knocked on my derriere by a black and tan fur-covered projectile...with teeth. I think I might have cursed...or passed gas, I'm not sure which. After I peeled the creature off my face, I realized it was a puppy. Ew. I stuffed the puppy into a large crate, presumably meant for just such an occasion and gathered my pearls up from the four corners of the house. Again, ew. More fur balls. Giant fur balls. Immense...oh, wait, that one was a Golden Retriever. He was nice and looked at me with large brown eyes...and then sneezed in my face. After I went home and showered...
Next day. Arrived. The cats were out of the garage and man, were they angry. The Siamese were back up on the china cabinet and I could swear....do cats whisper? The ancient black one was determined to trip me, presumably to make me fall where the puppy could lick me until I drowned or the Golden Retriever could sneeze on me again. Who'd have though such a sweet face was hiding such a sinister mind? I thought quickly and threw handfuls of dog and cat food out in the back yard and then locked the door behind them all.
Dusting off my hands in triumph, I proceeded to face the daunting task ahead. I realized I was still surrounded...not by animals this time, but by mountains of clutter, buckets of dog fur, and dust thick enough I could have sprouted seeds. I pushed up my sleeves, gritted my teeth and set to it.
I paused a moment and looked around...and panicked. Born Organized People like myself were not supposed to quake with confusion like this. Where.to.start? I scowled, I stared down the clutter. It stared back. It howled.
No, that was the dogs at the back door.
I fell back on basic training. One.thing.at.a.time. I put a wadded up paper towel in the trash can and beamed with pride. And then remembered I hadn't put on my rubber gloves. After scrubbing my hands relentlessly for 15 minutes, I returned to the scene of the grime.
The dogs were hurling the cats at the back door.
Okay, logic. I got dusting supplies from my tote and found a step ladder. Dust the ceiling fan, dust the bookshelves. Dust the electronics. I stepped outside to shake out the dust cloth.
I did not know dogs and cats were so fast. Nor that they knew how to work sliding door locks. Yes, those were my keys the Siamese just flushed down the toilet...and my cell phone the puppy was teething on.
Five hours later, when Madame B found me...digging for scraps in the compost heap...I was quite fine, no, really...
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