Piss Boy struck again.
I know that I've posted about this before, but Buddy has, well, an occasional problem with peeing outside the litter box. It's not like we don't keep the catbox clean as we're (or, should I say, Sean is-I don't "do" litter) pretty vigilant about making sure it's scooped out daily. We also have two boxes, with hoods, as was recommended by our vet when we took Buddy to him when the whole thing started. Basically, it seems as if our dear kitty is super-sensitive to the cleanliness of the box. Or, he's got a psychological problem. Sean thinks the latter.
I just bought a lovely new comforter set for the extra bedroom, complete with new sheets and matching valance for the window. Not that I'm a label whore (okay, I AM a label whore), but it was a Laura Ashley pattern that I've been salivating over for six months, and got at Marshall's for peanuts (half was on clearance). We happily made up the bedroom, intentionally avoiding the glaring fact that, had I not miscarried, we'd be making up a crib in this room, not a full-sized bed. Sean voiced his misgivings about putting "nice things" on the bed, as Piss Boy might tag it, but I reassured him that I would check the bedding every day.
Piss Boy won. I went into the bedroom Monday morning to find a stain on the delicate white sheets, comforter and pillowcase on one side---FUCK!!! So, everything came off and into the washer it went. Luckily it didn't soak down into the mattress, but I cleaned the hell out of it as a precaution with baking soda and white vinegar, and flipped over the mattress. And, as another precaution, we decided to keep the bedroom door permanently closed, which is unfortunate for Peachy as she loves to sleep on "her" bed. Perhaps that's why he did it-maybe it's territorial, who knows.
Also unfortunate is, when you pass the room, you can't see the lovely new comforter set and matching valance. You also don't get the wonderfully bright light that comes through every morning, accentuated by the butter-yellow color on the walls and white trim.
Just a sucky situation, all around.
We tried to justify closing the door-the cats shouldn't be there anyway, they'd just claw up the new comforter (I didn't have the heart to declaw them), we'd have cat fur everywhere, and, anyway, it will someday be a nursery, so the cats need to get used to not being allowed to sleep in there. That it's not really "their" room. So, the door was shut.
The door faces our bedroom door, so every morning after I wake up, I see the closed door facing me, reminding me that my hope for a baby is, for the present, as inaccesible to me as this room is to the cat. It symbolizes the stubborness of my body to cooperate, the fact that my shitty Fallopian tube portal is also blocked off. It glares at me, accusingly, saying "Hey, where's the baby you promised me? You painted me yellow, refinished the floor, but there's no crib-what the FUCK!?". The closed door nags at me that time is ticking away, that my biological clock will wait only so long, that I need to GET ON THE BALL and make decisions.
I hate that fucking door. Every time I pass it, on my way down the stairs, I want to kick it and tell it to piss off.
But, for now, it's a necessary evil to live with, just like my crappy tubes. For how long, only time and fate will tell.