Friday, June 13, 2008

MC Scat Cat & Bathroom Bingo

Volunteering yesterday at the nursing home.

There's two cats that live there. Neither are as cool as that one that was in the news but they're still pretty cool regardless.

I hope when I'm old and fucked up there'll be a few animals hanging around. All the benefits of grandchildren without the awkward conversation and requests for family heirlooms.

We're halfway through a game when the brown one takes a whiz on the tile floor. I alert Sam, the project organizer. He's an older, cheerful Eastern European.

"Hey Sam! That cat is peeing!"
"What?"
"The cat. He's peeing. Look. Right there. See that big puddle?"
"Oh."
"Should I get someone?"
"No, no. Don't worry."

Sam goes back to calling numbers.

"Hey Sam. What about the..."
"Is OK. They mop later."

Have you ever smelled pure, unadulterated cat piss, with no litter or anything to absorb it? Now imagine that same smell, during a heat wave, in an un-air conditioned room, IN A NURSING HOME.

Fuck it. I own cats. I've scrubbed toilets in restaurants. Collected piss-spattered bottles from behind the urinals during my employment at various bars. I start soaking up the mess with the only thing handy - wheelchair incontinence pads - in lieu of paper towels.

"No. No. NO!"
Sam yells.
He shoos me away.
"Is okay. We play bingo."

Apparently homeboy Sam just wants to let it ride, despite the volunteers and residents wrinkling up their noses and the wet mass of cat pee and wheelchair pads still chilling on the floor.

"Oh I'm fine! This is no problem! I have cats at home!" I say, trying to sound firm, yet kind and energetic and spunky.

Sam's not hearing it. He shoos me away once more.

I give up and return to my chair.

Twenty minutes of stench later, Sam is circulating the room, offering everyone butter cookies from a round blue tin. You know the ones. You get them at the drugstore.

What the fuck is wrong with Sam? Can he not see? Can he not smell?

Everyone in the room is looking at him like he's a fucking lunatic. There's an all-consuming, almost edible presence of cat piss, a situation which could be very easily resolved with 4 seconds of effort and a trash can, and here he is running around like Suzy Hostess.

I wish I could say I played the hero and acted in the name of decency and common sense and resolved the cat pee issue.

I didn't.

I sat there like a lump for the rest of the hour. No one else spoke up. Fuck them. I can't do everything. I fulfilled my end of the social contract.

And what's with that cat? Cats ALWAYS pee where they're supposed to. Did he learn it from the residents? Do prison cats have coercive anal sex and drink pruno?

Anyway. Don't bring a cat to a bingo game is the big take-away here. That is all.

2 comments:

Scribe Called Steff said...

A) Now I remember why I quit my promising candystriper career at the nursing home. Or was that because Bob and Jack both died on the same day? Either way, I didn't let the door hit me on the way out.

B) This is why I don't have cats. Or maybe it's because of my Oriental rugs. Either way, no pee for me.

That, though, is one funny-ass posting. Not that your ass is funny. Like I can see it? You know what I'm saying.

That is all. ;)

Anonymous said...

I agree. Funny-ass posting is right!