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Oh, Poo - Weather, Or Not [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
rejectomorph

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Oh, Poo [Dec. 17th, 2012|06:02 pm]
rejectomorph
A blurry crescent moon is showing through the overcast. There was a nice fog this morning, and lovely white clouds all afternoon, though the intermittent sunshine failed to get the air very warm. Rain failed to fall, too, but everything is still damp from last night's storm. The week might not turn out to be as dismal as I expected, if there are more days like this.


This morning when I woke up and started to take the blanket off, I felt something wet. I didn't have my glasses on yet, and I vaguely saw that I had stuck a finger in something that looked like a hairball. Portia was sleeping next to me, so it was not surprising that there should be a hairball, but I wondered how I had managed to sleep through the noise she must have made coughing it up. I shook the blanket a bit and let the hairball fall to the floor.

After having my orange juice and reading a bit of the newspaper I went back with a paper towel to pick up the hairball. By then my nose had begun working again, and I realized that the thing didn't smell like a hairball. In fact it wasn't a hairball, and thus there had been no noise for me to sleep through. The cat had apparently used the litter box during the night and had then brought a clinger to bed with her, and it had come off on the blanket. Eww, kitty!

Anyway, I had to wash the blanket, after pre-treating the stained parts. It's fortunate that I hadn't rolled over on the thing in my sleep and gotten it all squashed everywhere. As it was there were only two small areas of the blanket with poo stains, and they came out nicely. Ah, the perils of having a cat with too-long bum hair.


Since it's going to be chilly all week, and I got a bargain on onions at the store yesterday, and I already had some onions that need to be used up soon, I'm going to make a big pot of onion soup. I don't have a bay leaf or any fresh thyme, but I think I can substitute a bit of basil and some rather old powdered thyme I found in the cupboard. There isn't any soft cheese to melt on it, either, so I'll have to make do with some Monterey jack. Or I might just have it without cheese. The French might be scandalized, but who cares? And anyway, what can they expect from somebody who sleeps with poo?
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