It is with great and deep regret that I inform you of the going's on in the house today. Your charming son, Kiddo, thought it would be most amusing to lock our poor Kitty in the bathroom this morning. Being the fantastic mother and caregiver that I am, I did not acknowledge Kiddo's whereabouts for some time, as I assumed he was happily playing in his room. He was, but his gleeful squealing was not from active, intelligent play, rather it was being used to drown out our Sweet Kitty's cries from the dark dungeon. In her despair, our Darling Kitty took it upon herself to cling to the only thing she could find in the dampness, your dirty clothes from last night, piled so lovingly on the floor. She shrieked, she cried, she meowed and howled; and then in a last effort to spite us all for not rescuing her in a more timely fashion, she peed on your clothes.
Oh why, why could you not have a blessed hamper for to house the dirties before laundry day? Why must they lie so feebly on the floor in a pile? Oh wait, there is a hamper... Oh then, why, why does your beautiful and thoughtful wife forsake you by forgetting to return the hamper baskets to their rightful place, leaving said hamper useless? Could you not be spared perhaps a closet floor to rest your duds? Oh wait, the closet floor is where they go most of the time anyway.
But never fear Dear Hubby; once discovered I freed Fair Kitty and dashed the smitten clothes fast away to the wash. Ample amounts of detergent and detergent booster thrashed the clothes in a violent effort to release the odorous foe, and your beloved khaki's made it through unscathed. The next load was reserved for your dark shirt, and since no small article shall spin alone, I tossed in stray towels and the wadded up rug from the evil bathroom.
Now I must interject here, this letter placed among the blog sphere was originally intended for my amusement, but lest you be embarrassed, for my penance is coming. In my snarkiness and misplaced anger I was pre-writing this letter in my head, all the while sniff checking the aforementioned shirt for signs of odor. As my internal dialogue crescendo-ed to a humorous peak, I stuck my entire face into the shirt that, from what I can only guess, housed a gigantic cat poo Beloved Kitty deposited in the unchecked bathroom rug.
After several rounds of dry-heaving, I was able to compose myself, dig the remaining poo pellets out of the washer, and restart the load; trying to put the incident behind me. I am pleased to say the second lashing beat out the offenders and your blue shirt is saved.
As for the Cat and I, well our condition is yet to be determined.
I await your return home,