Cats and Construction
It might be too soon to talk about my day yesterday.
Let me start by telling you that Rosie is fine. She is here on the desk complaining that I am typing instead of petting her.
Yesterday was supposed to be the last day of stage two of our home renovation. The floor guys were putting the last coat of polyurethane on the new oak flooring in the upstairs hall, master bedroom and closets. I was leaving to run errands as they arrived. When I returned they were already finished and gone.
I went about my business, unloading groceries and preparing for an afternoon of teaching and an evening of chamber music. An hour and a half later I heard the meowing.
Yes, Rosie, with her long white fur and four furry paws, sweet little Rosie, was locked behind the upstairs hall door, also secured with an extra layer of plastic, zippers and duct tape, in there alone, with the fresh oil based polyurethane on the floor.
You can see two big problems here.
I scooped her up and tried to clean her feet with paper towels, but her paws were all glued tight and all the fur stuck to the pads in a big mat of dried gluey poly. I just held her for awhile, mind racing. . . I prayed, seeing her as God’s perfect white fury kitty. Then, after calling the vet, who referred me to Minnesota Pet Poison Control, whose web sight had nothing like my plight. . . I made what seemed to me like a life or death call.
I soaked eight cotton balls in mineral spirits and worked on each paw as long as she would let me. Then I took her to the kitchen sink and used the strongest non-toxic soap I could think of, Dawn dish soap, which is supposed to take grease out of your way, and washed her feet in the hottest water I thought she could stand. She was of course the devil incarnate, but I stayed the course, continuing to wash her feet until she could take no more. I wrapped her in a towel and continued to pray, hoping I had not made the situation worse, or further toxified her. She gave us a quite a scare all afternoon. At age 11 she is officially down to eight lives.
I don’t know if an ER vet could have done better, or would have taken a different course. I made the decision to keep her home and stuck with it. I do believe that Rosie has angelic characteristics and perhaps her fellow angels helped her out a little.
And then there is the second problem, hundred of kitty prints in the poly, tracing Rosie’s path from Mary’s room where she must have been hiding, to our room, to the master bathroom, back over to Mary’s bathroom and then down the hall to the door. She stopped back in Calvin’s room and rested on the sofa from our room, getting poly all over the arms and cushions. There may be other areas she explored in her confusion. It’s too soon to tell.
So, we will not be moving back into our upstairs Monday as planned. Tra la la, as I like to say.
I happen to think little cats prints all over the floor are a cute decorating idea, but the contractor and Bill? Not so much. I guess there will be some sanding and and another final coat. Did I mention that Bill was out of town?
And, I never really liked that sofa anyway.
I’ve been meaning to write a blog about cats and construction for a couple months, as we are into the fourth month here and the cats have become very friendly with the contractors. This was not what I had in mind.
Well, that’s my story. Thanks for reading it. All is well that ends well, or better yet, all will be well and all will be well and all will be made well.
