Distractions, distractions!!

My day started with such great intentions... I was going to finish classifying my photos, work on my new website and maybe watch a movie and catch an afternoon nap with the kittens later.  Unfortunately, living with (almost) 1000 cats means that my day begins and ends with distractions:

I wake up to a plethora of whining cats who need to be fed three different kinds of food, have their water changes and their litter boxes cleaned (you'd be amazed how much poop thirty-two cats can produce in a day!).

Note that these are in our basement, which is unfinished...

This is not what our HOUSE looks like (at least not on most days!)

Gaby conveniently wakes up once most of the work is done and immediately starts questioning me about where his pants are (crumpled on the floor in the bathroom where he left them last night).  I roll out of bed and catch a glimpse of a slimy puked-up hairball peeking out from under the bed, but as I rustle through the cleaning supplies in the hall closet, I realize that a cat got in overnight and now it smells suspiciously urinous (is that a word??)...

OK, just a quick little clean-up before I get down to work, should take no time at all. I kiss my man goodbye (on the cheek, because he won’t come near me when I haven’t brushed my teeth) and crawl back into bed to read one more chapter of my trashy vampire novel before I deal with the latest cat mess. 

After I finish with the hairball & pee clean-up, that's when I discover the pile of stinky clothes stuffed behind the couch as though it’s some new storage spot.  Can you guess who put it there? I'll give you a hint: it wasn't me and it wasn't one of the cats (although they have been known to steal the bathmat and bring it downstairs to the living room).  I head downstairs with my bundle of stench to do a quick load of laundry... but when I get downstairs I find Sneaky Pete sleeping in the laundry basket.

Sneaky Pete was so named for his aptitude for sneaking around

unseen and unheard and turning up in the most interesting places...

He gives me a look that clearly says, "Back off biotch", so I have to work around him, which means that the sheets won't be getting washed today.  Of course, this is when the 8-month old kittens realize that I am in the basement - a wild and exotic place they dare not venture on their own for fear of being pounced on by one of the more dominant cats.  With me as their guardian and chaperone, it soon becomes a free-for-all and Potato decides to investigate the washing machine.

I now KNOW that my Potato is related to the Chapman-Bombardier Potato

due to their shared fascination for washers/dryers.

As I scoop Potato off the washer, I hear a plaintive wailing from the other room where the strays hang out during the winter.  I run over and open the door just in time to prevent Hobo from moving in for the kill on Bob who is cornered under a chair and too far from the open window to escape. As soon as I enter, Hobo backs off and nonchalantly settles onto the couch where he tries to look innocent.   

Unfortunately, Hobo is not allowed into the house

to mix with the "General Population" since he is such a fighter,

but he has a cozy spot on my old couch in the basement

where thanks to a cat door in the window, he can come and go as he pleases.

It seems to be my day for pee, because I notice that in his fear, Bob has liberally wet the floor, the chair that he clambered over to escape and the shelf near the exit.  OK, it’ll only take me a couple of minutes to clean this up and fold the clothes I just took out of the dryer before I can get to work on my website.

As I head back to the laundry area, I find that my little rascals have figured out how to get the dryer door open... OK, I admit, in my haste to break up World War 3, I may not have shut it properly.  Of course, as soon as I shout, "OUT", they realize that this must be a fun new game and that maybe I have hidden catnip in the dryer (who knows why cats think the way they do?!).

Granted, Mr. Winky only has one eye,

but surely he can find his way OUT of the dryer... ??

By the time I shoo everyone out of the dryer, the clothes hampers and the sink (?!?), it’s feeding time at the zoo again and there are twenty sets of expectant eyes looking up at me as I walk into the kitchen. I rinse out all the food bowls (cats are clean animals and like to eat from clean plates) and start doling out tonight’s menu of; 

• Prescription Diet chicken dinner for the downstairs cats.
• Prescription Diet geriatric dinner for Daisy (she's like 18 or 19 and that stuff keeps her going like some sort of preservative!).
• Prescription Diet weight control for the kittens (the ones who are now actually 4 years old, but we still call them kittens).
• Prescription Diet kitten food for the NEW kittens, who we refer to as the "boos".
• Friskies for Squirt and Mumsie, who absolutely refuse to eat anything else.

Then I make the rounds of the water bowls and dry food bowls and replenish everything.

For some reason, I feel completely wiped out, so I pour myself a glass of wine and plop down on the couch for 15 minutes of TV before I log on to Facebook to harvest my crops and do a few jobs in Mafia Wars. That’s when Gaby walks in the door and asks me what’s for dinner.

My day begins and ends with distractions. But I can always work on the website tomorrow…