AVERAGE RIDDANCE

One less cat to step on.

One less towel to boil.

One less poop that looks like tootpaste.

....I don't know the rest of the lyrics, but for those of you with musical theater backgrounds, this should ring true.

I got rid of my children.

I knew this day was coming. I even knew it was today. At least I was going to try for it to be today. If they're two pounds, they're adoptable, all that. You know.

I arrive home this morning from fetching some organic bouquets at a farmer's market at some church from a woman with vocal fry. And from fetching a child-sized Star Trek massage chair from a cul-de-sac in Midlothian with my brother.

I walk into my apartment determined to begin kitten disposal and see Roland snuggling on my shoe. My favorite shoe-- what TASTE he has. Mr. Marianne trots up- I can hear him purring a mile away. Mr. Pearl is nowhere to be seen, but that's par for the course recently and it doesn't matter because I love him. Dust is seated, immobile as always, beneath the coffee table and gazing at me with fathomless and soulful close-set eyes. 

I think, hmm. I really like at least two of these. But this always happens. I just need mental reinforcement. So I message my group of besties on FB. Mr. Paul immediately responds, "You can't take them anywhere. AND THEY POOP." 

My qualms quieted at once by the veracity of his message, I decide to nap and then take the children to the shelter. But, I think, I'll use the bathroom first. To ensure the quality of my nap. I enter the restroom. As usual, all four kittens station themselves on my feet and stare up at me while I take care of business. I pat each head in succession. Deliver some kind words. I get to Roland and realize he is COVERED IN POOP from his right cheek to his right.....other cheek. WHAT HAS BEEN GOING ON? That settles it. I'm done. I snatch him up and run some warm water over him. Scrub him with lavender snowman soap from last Christmas and toss him into the cat carrier. I round up everyone else, trying to remain calm in the face of such a pooptastrophe. We drive to animal control. We are received with glee and everyone is relinquished to the hands of- well, I don't care who takes them as long as there are no more poop immersion exercises in my bathroom.

Having said that- there are EXCELLENT folks standing by to take these creatures home. I'm very excited about that, and look forward to detailed reports. Meanwhile- the promised obits:

1. Roland:

Roland was a good cat. Everyone who met him was impressed by his distinctive eye/jawbrows. Always a poser- he never met a lens he didn't like. Meticulous bather. Floppy sleeper. Occasional poop soaker. Going to live with one Maggie McGrann. Maggie is a wonderful, beautiful, artistic woman who has already given Roland 3 additional last names which are all in French. I'm sure he won't notice. But I do hope she starts him on cigars very soon.
2. Dust:

Dust. A majestic specimen. Aloof and haughty, I never knew if she merely tolerated my cuddles or sought them. Observant. She will be missed. But I've zero doubt of her happy life to come with Marcia Hailey. Marcia snatched Dust out of the shelter less than two hours after I deposited her there. Dust had no real feelings for her brothers, so I do not forsee any issues adjusting to her new digs.
3. Mr. Marianne:

Already dead. Too late for an obit.
4. Mr. Pearl:

Oh, Mr. Pearl. Do not breathe a word of this, but I miss Mr. Pearl. He had the ideal fat feet. Floppy, cross-eyed, malleable. Unaware of most things. I might've loved him. But I take solace in the fact that he and the ghost of Mr. Marianne are slated to go and live with a very charming and zany man I met at a law firm once upon a time named John. I feel very confident about this because I was fond of John years ago when I met him, but then he sent me the list of his potential new names for Mr. Marianne and Mr. Pearl (upon penile discovery) and they include things like "Baal: Lord of Destruction." So I am FULLY on board and eager to see what develops. 

*That said, should Mr. Pearl wreak too much havoc, call me first.
There we have it. Batch complete.