Kitty has diarrhea. Convenient, isn't it?—that Nick's working extra house and the cleaning up of messes falls largely (entirely) on myself. I grew up around animals. My father believed it important that his kids were exposed to things early so that they wouldn't be afraid later on in life—a result, I have always thought, of his inherited fear of water (his mother takes wide berth around puddles). So, along with swimming lessons before kindergarten, we had always had a dog and cats running around the cattle.

Growing up on a farm, I'm used to nasty smells, but I'm very worn out with cleaning up after Sophie. I talked to her the other night after cleaning up the 2nd mess in as many days on Nick's side of the bed, about how much easier it was to scrub a carpet than it was to clean bedding...and I concluded the discussion by sing-songing that the litter box was even easier—can you imagine!?

And I look at her sweet face. I know that her stress with her new home is likely the cause of her diarrhea, and feel badly as I scrub this spot or that...and know that I'm completely whipped. Pfft. Feeling guilty that I'm causing her to create a mess for me to clean up.