Well, I did the unthinkable yesterday.
I absolutely lost my mind when one of our cats POOPED on OUR BED last night. I gathered up all three of our beloved cats, shoved them all into one tiny little cat carrier, perched them on a bench in the mudroom and shouted, "That's it, they're out."
And then I broke down.
This wasn't their first mess in the last couple of weeks. We're averaging a couple a DAY.
You name it, they've tattooed it with poopy love... floors, a bathroom rug, a laundry basket, Izzie's one bed and our cream-colored couches (thank GOD for microfiber, easy-to-clean furniture).
The bed was my last straw.
"You don't really want to get rid of them," Scott said.
No, but I don't really want the entire house to reek of cat urine, either. We've worked our butts off to get ourselves decent things, to keep it clean and presentable. Urine is not exactly a charming way to begin a night entertaining guests.
The cats were ultimately let out of the cat carrier. Clara was pissed, Eva was scared to death and Rocky... well, Rocky was sort of clueless. He walked around the mudroom and then marched back into the carrier. Idiot.
We've researched online why previously-housebroken cats suddenly decide to desecrate their home and picked up a few tips we're going to implement in the next few days. If "pee here" spray at the litterboxes doesn't work, they're going to have to go to the vet to rule out any health issues.
The tough part is trying to find our culprit. We don't even have it narrowed down to two.
Every cat's a suspect in this house.
And if they weren't declawed, or as important to me as my own human children will be, they'd be out on the street learning the toughest lesson of all.