Kitties Making Mudpies . . . Or the Great Mud Bath

Sometimes, you should pay more attention to details . . . like whether there's enough litter in the box to counterweight the fat kitty girl (named Gilda) who likes to brace her front feet on the side of the box while she's taking her morning constitutional.  Sigh . . . apparently, I am not detail oriented enough . . .

Gilda has two four- week-old baby boys, both of whom are cute as little pictures.  Gilda also has that common denominator of most Causey descendents, the compulsive need to scratch and cover in the litter box obsessively.  Together with the small box I put in her crate, so the babies could get into it to learn potty training, and her habit of standing braced on the side of the box, this was apparently  a bad mix . . . and by bad mix, I mean mud bath waiting to happen . . .

I got up yesterday AM and took Kenny in to my vet to be neutered.  (Kenny is 5 months old, and still looking for his forever home, since his original home was cancelled, due to illness in their family . . . and when I looked down at him on Wednesday, and did a double take because he had all of a sudden gotten so big, I had to check to make sure none of the mommies had escaped their crates, I knew it was time for the old snip-a-roo.  He weighed six and a quarter pounds at the vets, yesterday AM, so yeppers, time to neuter that boy!)  So, I didn't feed the babies before I left, so Kenny wouldn't feel cheated, by not being able to eat before his surgery.  Anyway, I digress . . .

So, I got home a little after 9AM, and as per my usual, went in to feed the horde.  I glanced over at Gilda's crate, and HOLY SHIT . . . my sweet little white powderpuffs had been replaced with muddy little gophers.  Both of them were covered stem to stern with 'litter mud', which is what you get when mommy kitty overbalances the box, spilling the litter and then scratches obsessively to cover the mess, resulting in turning the water bowl over, too.

There was mud on the babies, there was mud on Gilda, there was mud all over the crate, there was mud on the floor, there was mud on the little sorter shelf where I keep necessary kitten-room incidentals, there was even mud in the crate BELOW them . . . and I still don't know how the hell THAT happened.  I strongly suspect there is mud on the ceiling, but I've been too demoralized to look . . .

Now, I'm here to tell you that four week old Birman kittens will let you know vociferously that they do no like baths.  Nevertheless, both of the boys and mom Gilda all got them.  And then lounged in carriers with warm towels while I spent an hour (I shit you not) cleaning up the mud bath they'd given their crate, and most of the kitten room.  

The older kittens thought it was great fun to listen to me curse a blue streak as I was doing so.  They apparently thought I needed some laughs to cheer me up, so while I was busy Cloroxing and scrubbing Gilda's crate the two biggest of the little demons (Dreamy and Icey) managed to take a WHOLE fricking role of paper towels from behind me on the shelf of the cat tree, down to the floor, and make confetti out of it.  They may have miscalculated a trifle . . . laughing was really not what I did at that point . . .

I'm happy to report that the kitties (and I) have now recovered from the 'making mud pies' episode.  Strangely enough, I seem to recall it being a lot more fun as a kid!