Yesterday I pulled it together enough to drag my over-sized bum to a morning yoga class and then kept the party going by cleaning for the next 8 hours. I smelled delightful by the end of the day. I actually wiped down surfaces in the kitchen and moved kitchen furniture so I could vacuum AND mop. Vacuuming happens once a week at least, but actually dragging out the mop and bucket is a rare event. The rarity of it necessitated also mopping the Happy Morning Sunshine room as well as the bathrooms. The rest of the house got vacuumed as well. Various items were sorted and I did about 3 loads of laundry. In my eyes, a productive day.
In my cats eyes: the apocalypse.
What they saw and heard was 8 hours of really loud roaring noises abruptly starting and stopping, the thumping of furniture moving, water running and swishing, and glass breaking. (One salt shaker and a small bowl are no more.) Nothing was where it was supposed to be including their food and water bowls. I don’t think anyone pooped the entire day.
Sookie went immediately to her observation point on top of the furnace where she could glare down at me as I cleaned the laundry room. She was up there so long, that at one point I saw that she had put her head down and had almost gone to sleep. Birdie could not be reached for comment from her “panic room” in the back of the closet. When I lifted her out for dinner, she was just dead weight. Cleaning broke her. Olivia kept shooting back in to whatever room I was in, deciding that she was not cool with what she was seeing, and then shooting back out again. The day was so exhausting that she put herself to bed by 9 p.m. The only one unaffected was Miles who slept through the vacuuming and relocated his sleeping spot every time I moved a new piece of furniture into a different spot.
As if to make up for her lack of helpfulness yesterday, Olivia decided to help me today. I was sitting on the floor sorting laundry, when she darted in and grabbed the t-shirt that I was dropping into the laundry basket. After removing claws from the shirt and a firm, “No,” she zeroed in on an easier target. Underwear.(Last week it was a sports bra) She grabbed a pair of undies and dragged them down the hall presumably on the way to the laundry room.