Cat litter worries
All my dreams seem to be worry-related lately, as one of my friends pointed out.
I must have been worrying about cat litter, because I bought one of those new, fancy-schmancy littermaid boxes, you know, the ones you don’t have to scoop. (Though you still have to change it eventually.)
In my dream, the box was either overfull or malfunctioning and had started scraping clumped cat litter onto the floor and into a closet, and it smelled terrible.
This is probably related to my oversensitivity over the new box, because I keep worrying that I smell something over there anyway, even though there is a lid and charcoal filter for the waste receptacle. That, and even though I put down a $25 littermaid mat, the cats are still tracking litter outside the mat. Right now, the litter box is in the kitchen, the only place that has room for it that I could plug it in. Maybe I should just break down and buy the batteries and put it in the bathroom where it belongs.
I also dreamed something about my old job. There was a meeting about something, but I wasn’t required to go because I was leaving, and my coworkers were all making jealous or snide remarks about it. At the same time, I still wanted to know what was going on.
I also remember being on the phone to the bank in my old house and trying to explain to them that my address and phone number had changed, and trying to find something on my atlas at the same time. The woman on the phone wasn’t very understanding; she ended up hanging up on me because I’d put down the phone to look for the atlas. So then I had to call back up.
I also remember someone sending me an e-mail through this blog, a retired football player, but somehow, he’d screwed up his e-mail address and I was trying to get Tod(d)’s help to decipher it.
Bits and fragments… Grr. Trying to remember other things. An irritating squirrely guy from the old job, strumming a guitar while sitting on a big half-tire, in my way, and refusing to get out of the way.
Song in my head when I woke up: Come On Eileen.
You must have really needed help to get MY assistance on a computer/sports realated issue. . .
Have you started working yet? How’s the new job?
Since you’re talking about litterboxes, now would seem the appropriate time and place to relate how last night I discovered Bruce had a turd stuck to his butt last night (or, to be even more graphic and specific, his testicle-less scrotum). He went bounding across the bed while I was dressing Elliot and I say it. I asked Todd to remove it, but what he did instead was pick up Bruce and toss him (rather harder than he needed to, given Bruce’s bad hip) off the bed. Todd said he would rather dress Elliot so, rather than argue, I pursued a now-feisty Bruce and removed the aforementioned (and exceptionally hard because it must have been on there for awhile) turd with a kleenex.
You’ll have to tell me how that fancy litterbox works. I’ve seen them before and always figured they couldn’t possibly work as well as they’re supposed to.