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How to Tell Who Your Friends Are

April 28, 2014

Every Monday morning during the school year, a group of ladies come to my house for Bible study.  Today was our last gathering before summer break, and as per tradition we always stage a fabulous lunch all decked out with linen and china.  Looking forward to all of us sitting around the table having a grand old time, I jumped up this morning to scurry around and get the house tidied up and the table set.

Bad Karma must have intervened in the form of Mary Elizabeth’s cats.  The litter box resides at the top of the stairs, and sometimes in the morning, just after somebody has used it, it smells pretty awful.  This morning, as I got out a table cloth, I noticed the distinctive odor as I passed the stairs, and I hoped that it would dissipate before the ladies arrived in just 30 minutes or so. 

I put the tablecloth on, walking around the table a few times to straighten it out.  It was too small, so I took it off and went back to the hall closet to find another one.  The bad cat poop smell was still in the air as I passed by the stairway again.  After I walked around the table several times putting this tablecloth on, I realized it was too long, so I went into the living room to get the leaves to the table that we keep behind the sofa.  Going back into the dining room, I put in the first leaf, then walked around to put the second one on, complaining to myself the whole time that the litter box smelled so bad I could still smell it all the way in the dining room.  That’s when I glanced down and saw something on the floor.  A footprint.  More footprints led both ways around the table.  Footprints leading to and from a pile of cat poop the size of a dinner plate on the carpet beside the table.  They led around the table three or four times, out into the foyer, into the living room, tracking across about every carpet we own.  Cat poop was smeared all over my slippers and up the sides.  Little bits flecked over the top of my foot.

Thirty minutes later, I am scrubbing up piles of cat poop and footprints tracked all over the house when the first lady arrives bearing a scrumptious dish she had lovingly prepared for our lunch.  I am puking and gagging, trying to scrape up slimy, gooey, semi-liquid cat poop into a dustpan with a glob of wet paper towels.  My slippers are resting on the back porch after a brief stint in the toilet. (I can’t leave them there because people use the toilet)

You know who your friends are when they ignore the fact that the kitchen isn’t quite clean, the house room smells like cat shit, and you are dashing around, trying to discretely remove soggy, slippers from the back porch (after realizing that we probably should eat on the porch).  Your friends laugh and tell about the time they have done the same thing or how their elderly mothers managed to run their walkers with wheels back and forth across a pile of dog poop.  Your friends open the refrigerator to pull stuff out and get the place ready and offer to help you scrub your carpets and convince you that walking through cat poop six or eight times and around the house with it all over your shoes is a pretty normal occurrence in most households.

Lunch was wonderful.

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2 Comments
  1. Wanda permalink

    I sure hope you were rested from out trip. I was so tired when I got up Sunday morning that I didn’t make it to church. Sounds like you have a wonderful bunch of friends.

  2. Wanda permalink

    Jason said a dog would keep the deer away from your place. He said that is why we are not bothered by them.

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