Be wary of good moods

I woke up early this morning, in a great mood, comfortable and rested. I sauntered to the kitchen where I began my daily ritual of grinding coffee and letting the dog out, and – opening the blinds – I paused.

“It’s going to be a great day,” I declared to no one.

Removing the old filter from the coffeemaker, I spilled grounds all over the counter. Upon cleaning them, I set out my mug, retrieved the carafe, and promptly spilled brewed coffee all over the freshly-cleaned surface.

“Well, fuck.”

Sipping my drink, I looked at my to-do list, which included cleaning the cat box. Steeling myself for the dreaded task, I grabbed the bathroom garbage bag and set to work.

And here’s where things went seriously wrong.

My cat has the luxury of a tiny room dedicated to his needs. It’s a small closet off the hallway with a giant litterbox on the floor. I fit it with liners, which are basically rectangular sheets of plastic – you can pull the 4 corners together, making a “bag” of sorts, then dispose of the whole thing. The catch is that I have to kneel in the doorway and lean awkwardly off-balance into it, leveraging myself against the back wall, to pull the liner full of used litter and poop and pee-cakes out and into a waiting receptacle. Which, this morning, turned out to be a wee bit smaller than necessary.

I lurched backward with the  poopsack, turning with a practiced motion and dropping it into the wastebasket, which, on this particular morning, was approximately 15% too small. The liner opened on one side as I did this, sending desiccated poop and litter all over the closet. This is the part where a sensible person might have stopped.

But I was determined.

I stood, mashing the plastic together, trying to hold the heaping litter in the inadequate can with the relative clean of the liner’s outside. As I stood to carry it, one of the sides came loose. And, upon taking my first step towards the outside garbage, the liner released, dumping approximately a cup and a half of used litter and its accompaniment into the open neck of my robe.

I stood paralyzed with shock, grains of litter trickling down my bare torso inside the robe, my mouth agape. A sensible person might now have decided to devise a new method, but not this guy. Resolved, I walked purposefully towards the kitchen, litter and dried cat turds falling to the floor with each step. Litter made its way, swiftly, down my body and into my slippers, making the formerly fluffy insides feel more akin to strolling on the beach.

“I’ll just put this in the kitchen garbage, and carry it all out,” I said, gritting my teeth. I finally got to the kitchen and opened the trash can, dumping the remaining contents into it. The litter then – amazingly – shifted and lurched forward, and spilled all over the kitchen floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Incensed, I grabbed the kitchen bag and pulled it from the receptacle, but it wasn’t done. The bag split down the side, and the remaining litter that I had actually managed to get in the trash skittered out onto the tile. I gathered up the sides and gingerly walked it to the outside garbage, leaving a trail of litter and kitchen trash behind me.

Finally back inside the house, a huge cleaning task lay before me: four severely soiled rooms and I still had to put new litter in the box. I grudgingly broke out the vacuum and bleach and set to work, methodically cleaning from room to room until everything was sparkling again.

Admiring my handiwork, I went back to my now-cold coffee and decided to reward my efforts with a fresh cup. I pulled the carafe from the machine, set my mug down…

…and promptly spilled coffee all over the counter.