Yesterday I very Carefully cleaned out a Wooden Box to put things into. Even lined it with paper, and left it, nicely waiting, by the back door.
Thought that I might put the children's boots into it.
Or maybe the dustpan and brush, used every flipping day to remove detritus from kitchen floor.
Or how about all the cat food, nice and tidy?
Fond thoughts of getting some sort of Order back into the house after the madness of Christmas.
Fond thoughts of getting some sort of Order back. Full Stop.
Only, when going to the back door this morning, to put Said Children's Boots into nice clean box, I find the cat, sitting in the box, weeing.
Not just a bit of wee. I can see it slowly puddling around the edges of the box, and starting to trickle towards the cat bowl. The paper inside the box has turned yellow and is starting to stick to the box.
'Terrific,' I say. To no one in particular.
And the Fond Thoughts of getting some sort of Order back into house after the madness of Life in General are forgotten, as I tip cat out, still weeing, and take box to end of garden and hurl at compost heap.
And back into the house I go, to clean up the Wee.
Which, of course, is the story of my life. As you all well know. Wee or Poo. With the occasional detour via Vomit or Blood.
Dammit. I was SO looking forward to that neat box containing something and creating a little bit of Order. Like Other People's Houses.
Back to Plan A.
Chaos.
