Happy Wednesday everyone!
Weebles the wonder kit has been in and out of the feline specialist vet’s office because his little ticker is a trouble maker. Our general routine is as follows: I drop him off before I go to work and Mancandy picks him up after he gets off (he leaves earlier than I do and avoids a lot of the incredibly hideous Nashville traffic). On this particular day, I’d been sick all morning and ended up not going into work. We decided to make a joint venture down the road to grab Weebs before the bottom dropped out of an approaching storm.
We walked into the clinic, waited only a couple minutes, and heard Weebles coming down the hallway before we saw him. The vet had taken time to explain that his blood pressure is still too high and if it’s still up when we recheck in a couple weeks he’ll need to be put on medicine. Thankfully his heart rate has calmed down now that we’ve adjusted his thyroid medication and his heart damage appears to be minimal (there’ll be another EKG in December to make sure). He will keep his heart murmur and we’re hoping to keep it from becoming more severe. We’ll just have to see how it goes.
Weebs is, in general, an extremely happy go lucky kid. He’s just too happy about life to really stress or get crabby. But, he’s apparently not thrilled with all the vet trips. We heard Weebles coming down the hallway before we saw him. There was some serious hissing and shit-talking going on. He was not having it. We paid quickly and took our pissy little one out to the vehicle. I usually sit his carrier in the back cargo section of my little SUV so there’s less risk of a turn or sudden stop sending him careening off a raised area (like the back seat).
We hopped in the front and off we zipped. For some reason, the road was backed up turning left (the way we’d normally go home). So, with a spirit of adventure, we turned right. I am a big fan of trying to find new routes home, it helps me get to know my neighborhood and since Nashville is rather large I’m still nowhere near confident of all the little neighborhoods and cut-throughs.
As the bottom dropped out and rain came down in sheets, a smell started wafting my way. I involuntarily gagged and then whirled to Mancandy.
“What did you DO!?!?” I shrieked.
My eyes were starting to water and the smell was increasing in pungency.
“That isn’t me!” He shrieked back.
I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I remembered the anger-filled kit in the back.
“Maybe it’s just a cat fart” I muttered, blinking furiously.
The smell was somehow hot and sticky. I didn’t know a smell could be sticky.
Weebs has this fun trick where he will get in the litter box and while he has the instinct to cover anything produced in the litter box (by him or someone else, he’s not picky) he can’t figure out how to cover it. He scratches the top of the box, the sides of the box, the wall beside the box, anything but the litter. Then he looks down, the unappealing mass is still uncovered, and he scratches some more.
When I lived in Arizona he would do this for hours. I would go yank him out of the litter box, clean it, and stomp off back to bed only to have him decide scratching the side of the litter box for another couple hours was a fine idea. I love him. I love him dearly. But I have wanted to squish him more times than I can count.
The rain was coming down so hard I couldn’t speed up and we heard scratching in the carrier just like he would do in the litter box. This was no foul fart. This was not a drill. This was a Do Not Pass Go Do Not Collect Two Hundred Dollars Grade A Emergency.
Then he stopped scratching and a wet trumpet-esque explosion of sound reverberated through the SUV.
The smell was beyond description. It hit us in the face like a wet mop. A wet mop soaked in liquid cat dung. It was pungent, rank, sticky, and somehow smelled burnt. Like, burned hot rubber. But caked in ebola poop. You could taste it on the back of your tongue.
My eyes started watering again and Mancandy was trying to roll down the windows without letting the monsoon into the vehicle. I don’t remember the route we took to get back. My nose was breaking and my brain was trying to crawl out of my ears to escape. Weebs was alternating between violently poop splattering and scratching the carrier in confused rage.
I swung the vehicle into the driveway and stabbed the button to open the garage. I could not bring this bomb into the house. We were clinging to the hope he hadn’t gotten his butt demons on him and the carrier would be the only casualty. We shut the garage door, stood trying to breathe without smelling or tasting, and opened the carrier.
An indignant Weebles stalked out. He turned in a couple circles. He started alligator crawling. And the back half of his underside from belly button to mid-tail, inner thigh to toes, was coated in thick, viscous demon diarrhea.
I do not gag or get grossed out by smells often. This was beyond words.
We gathered water, paper towels, baby wipes, washcloths, and towels. We tried to get him clean quickly. The revenge stew was too thick and sticky. He would need an actual bath. Mancandy grabbed him in a towel and carried him upstairs while I gathered random bath supplies as quickly as possible. Anyone working with cats knows you have a patience supply that is limited in quantity and he was already furious at the vet and confused about his predicament.
The bath that followed was fast, disgusting, and involved a lot of grunting and sweating on the two humans’ parts. Weebs was pissed. Mancandy used a towel to wrap around neck and shoulders and basically immobilize while I used the handheld shower thing and a washcloth of dawn dishwashing liquid and washed all the parts of a cat I tend to leave to their own devices. There was no privacy as he’d mushed the disgusting mess into every crevice on his underside. It was not pretty. He was not happy. However, the smell was starting to diminish. We might survive.
After scrubbing and prodding and scrubbing again and rinsing like a crazed person (leaving soap on skin creates dry skin and a lot of itching. I did not want to have to repeat this process and was determined to make sure he was clean and free of soap) we were making headway. Water went everywhere. The bathroom will never be the same. But we got all of the gunk off of Weebs, got him toweled down and cuddled up close for a heartbeat, then came to our senses and stuck him in the laundry room with the litter box in case he had more evil to expel.
I ran down to clean out the kennel. I could not believe the sheer volume of demon droppings in there. He’s a good size cat but he’s not the size of a german shepherd and I think he could have given one a run for its money. I decided the best way to handle this was to take the carrier apart. I had to pull my shirt up over my nose while I worked and eventually just stood out in the pouring rain while working because it helped mask some of the smell.
I got the carrier apart and took the pieces into the yard. After grabbing the hose I squatted down, sprayed, and nearly took a faceful of diarrhea. When I say I almost took a face full of projectile poop I honestly mean it. I barely ducked out of the way in time. And if I’d been splattered in that mess I would have had to go lay down in the road until someone ran over me.
As it was I got the carrier cleaned out (using much more caution about angles and velocity. I felt like I was playing pool with higher consequences and melted pool balls) and back in the garage. Weebs stopped pooping his rage and life went back to our version of normal.
However, one ray of sunshine came from this escapade. The next morning I was leaving to go to work. As I backed out of the driveway one of our other cats, a snotty jerk cat, was flouncing across the lawn like the snotty jerk that he is. He suddenly slammed on the brakes and sniffed the ground. His expression of puzzlement transformed violently into the face of repulsion, and he arched his back, hackles raised into spikes, snarled, then turned tail and vaulted across the yard.
I was completely confused until realizing he’d stepped where I’d been spraying out the carrier the night before. Weebs was so gross he made other cats run away in horror. I ended up laughing until I snorted on my way to work and thoroughly enjoyed telling Mancandy about snotty jerk’s unexpected run-in with horror.
That was the rainbow after our poop storm. We’re quite sure our noses are permanently broken. And now we’ve all learned that the most disgusting bodily functions can smell burnt and sticky. You’re welcome.
PS. This is the face he had for the rest of the day after his bath. I think he melted his own brain.