Am I supposed to laugh or cry?

Laugh?: Wednesday morning I put on a pair of jeans and found $26 dollars in the front pocket! No idea why. I could not figure out when I wore them last, or why that much cash was there. (This may also be a comment on how efficiently I do laundry.) I took that windfall as a sign that it was going to be a good day.

Cry?: Friday morning I woke up to some cat spit and grass bits in the hallway. Somebody couldn’t handle their fresh pot of greens, but a little cat spit is easy enough to deal with at 5:45 a.m.

Cat spit is one thing, a poo on the kitchen rug is another. I had to stare at it a really long time because it was the perfect shape of a really dense hairball. A hairball would make sense in combination with cat spit and grass bits, but something wasn’t quite right. It was poo.

While cleaning that up, I discovered that I had narrowly missed stepping on two tiny poos at the kitchen entrance. I understand the random dingle-berry that gets stuck to someone’s furry haunches, but the poo of intent raises too many questions. Who pooed in the first place?! Is someone sick? Is someone angry? Was the bathroom full and the poo couldn’t wait? Did the rug need dominated? I DON’T KNOW! People at work said this is why you’re only supposed to have ONE cat; it eliminates doubt.

Poos resolved, I proceeded with my morning routine: fed everyone, took a shower, got partially dressed, finished most of a cup of coffee, stumbled back to the kitchen to put coffee in thermos.

Vomit.

The previously pooed on rug was now smeared with vomit while a second pile dripped on the cat tree. I gave up on the rug and threw in the washing machine; too many bodily fluids to just wipe up before a school day.

I wish I could say that this is where it all ended, but that afternoon I came home to ants trailing across the kitchen to the front door. Much like one of the cats, I then lost my shit.

Cry rainbows, drink wine.