There is a phrase that The Palace will not utter.
Are you ready for it?
Here goes: "It Cannot Get Any Worse".
It can.
And voicing those words means it usually does.
With that knowledge, we've chosen to no longer use those words in that particular sequence.
Well. After last night, we've banned another phrase.
Here it is: "I Don't Have Anything To Blog About".
Nope. I won't be speaking those again.
No way, no how.
Here's the story.
So our weekend was relatively uneventful. Nothing worthy of a post, you know? I was whining about it while I was in the bathtub.
Now, if your house is anything like my house...when mom is in the tub, the family feels a great desire to spend time with her.
Not so relaxing.
Anyhow. I'm in the tub and The Princess runs in saying, "Mom! There is something nasty on your computer!"
Well I had just placed my laptop on my bed before getting in the tub.
And I may or may not have eaten a little piece of Heath Bar.
So I was fairly certain it was a smudge of the Heath.
Not wanting to incriminate myself, I said, "Bring it in here and let me see."
So she carries my computer in and shows me a brown smear on the closed lid.
I took my thumb and wiped it off, just to show her it was no big deal.
Her freaking out was not going to salvage any bit of my psuedo-relaxing bath.
After I dried off and put on my jammies, I went into my bedroom and was shocked by what I saw.
Streaks of brown. On my sheets. My blanket. My quilt. The carpet.
"PRINCESS! Could you maybe have mentioned that it was ALL OVER MY BED!!!"
"I told you it was nasty."
Oh dear. I wiped it with my thumb. And what had I done with my thumb since? I couldn't recall.
So I immediately begin looking for a cat. And soon I find Oliver. And I lifted his tail.
B.A.R.F.
Smashed cat poop all over his rump. In his tail. Down his legs.
B.A.R.F.
I screamed at The King to come help me and I grab the cat wipes I had recently purchased.

The King carried him to the bathroom sink and I lifted his tail and began pulling out the poop with the wipe.
Not working.
I am afraid my fingers went where no fingers should have to go.
Pulling and wiping. Wiping and pulling.
I needed The Princess to hand me the wipes so I could go fast, but her dry heaving yielded her incapable.
Not working.
We made a quick decision to run with the cat downstairs to the kitchen sink to give him a bath.
It was about this time that Oliver began making a noise similar to labor breathing.
I warmed the water and we stuck the cat under the faucet.
Holy Cow. He freaked.

Note the bleeding on The King's arm.
While Oliver was hyperventilating, The King was yelling, "Cat! I am gonna win this! You can claw all you want but you are gonna get this crap off your butt!!"
Over and over.
Finally, I reminded him that Oliver is a cat. And he doesn't understand English. All he understands is that the combination of the yelling and the water are not cat-friendly.
More yelling. More wiping. More breathing. More yelling.
We eventually got the stupid cat clean.
Or at least his back half.
We wrapped him in a towel and he went back to the labor breathing.

Check out The King's hand...

We headed back upstairs and changed all of the bedding. We cleaned the spots on the carpet.
And The King decided he needed a relaxing bath after all that work.
As did Oliver.

I got out my computer to begin the blogging, and The King said, "Ask and ye shall receive".
I will not be doing that again.