And another thing...

Living on borrowed time.

I am not sure what the fuck is going on with this guy. He either has lost his marbles or he has a death wish. The other day I almost granted it.

The Boy and I were watching CSI, Sammy was laying on the couch in The Boy's arms. A Rockwell painting.

Then Sammy, apparently deciding to end it all, got up and walked to the center of the living room floor. He looked at me and proceeded to piss on the bag of clothes I had ready to go to my brothers.

S-N-A-P!

I screamed, grabbed him by the head, ran to the door, opened it and fired him out the door and off the deck. Took about 3 seconds, total.

FYI - he can not fly.

That is nothing compared to the screaming that went on when I turned around. I ran back into the living room, grabbed the bag and headed back for the door. I wanted to get it outside to clean it off. There is nothing worse than cat piss, I stop, The Boy needs instructions. I am standing with the bag, trying not to let it drip on the floor, screaming at The Boy.

"Boy! Get something to clean that up before it soaks into the carpet!" Notice I said 'BEFORE' it soaks into the carpet?

He is a typical man, he is staring at me like he has no idea what language I am speaking. Sitting there like Johnny Bench, waiting for something to happen.

"BOY! DOOOOOOO SOMETHING!"

He stands up and picks up a sock off the floor, "NOT THE SOCK! What the fuck is wrong with you? Get a rag."

"Where?" Are you kidding me? I swear to God, Men do this shit so you will never ask them to do anything. He saunters into the kitchen to retrieve the rag from under the sink.

"Can you move your ass, before it soaks through to the basement for Christ's sake!" I have to get this bag outside, I leave him to it. A couple seconds later I am outside on the deck and the boy passes me and throws something off the deck into the woods. WTF? I already threw the cat, so it can't be that. I am almost afraid to ask.

"What was that?" Praying he was going to say the rag.

No such luck. He looks at me and matter-of-factly says, "The cordless phone."

I am speechless and have moved from hysterical to deathly calm in a split second. Calmly, "What?"

"There was piss on it."

I ask you, where do you even begin? At that point I had to go to my happy place or risk rupturing the vein that was pulsing at my temple.

Long story short. The living room still smells like cat piss.

I wonder if The Boy can fly?