Mine is the moment my mom walks through the door of my condo. Without exception, she mentions that she can smell cat pee all throughout the house.

To be fair to her there was a time where my place smelled like urine. First of all I’m a guy. I’m not cleaning the litter box twice a day like some of your fanatics. Second, I’ve well-documented here my struggles with my cat peeing outside her designated area. I probably wrote twenty pieces on it last year alone. The bottom line is that she’s on Prozac and doesn’t do it anymore, thank God. Not my mom. The cat.

The place used to smell pretty bad because the cat would spray all over this enclosure I had for my cat box and I had no idea she was doing it. Once I removed that piece of furniture, the odor disappeared.

Well, the cat still does go outside the box once in awhile. She pees on the rubber mat in front of the box. But I clean that up as soon as I find it.

My mom is on the “your place always smells” trip. She hasn’t changed that tune in two years. And it drives me nuts.

I guess the biggest problem is on my end. I expect her not to do this each time she comes over. I’m violating that Buddhist principle of “What is, is.” What is, is that my mom is going to say the place smells bad. And my insanity is that I keep wanting her to change.

She made this comment when she came in last night (I had two air fresheners going), and again once this morning, blaming the smell on her inability to sleep last night. I became offended and the reason is that I thought she was lying. Not out and out lying, but exaggerating.

Growing up I was blamed for a lot of the family’s problems. That was my role – the scapegoat. And whenever anything touches around that “it’s your fault” thing, I go nuts.

So, I asked my father who was also here if he noticed any smell. He said he didn’t.

I asked my mom to pinpoint the location of the smell so I could find and eliminate it. She just said the whole place smelled. I brought my dad into the bedroom where they slept and we both couldn’t smell anything.

It’s hard to correct something you can’t locate, of course.

My mother accused my father of lying to protect my feelings. Now I was really confused. Did it smell in there or not? Was someone exaggerating or lying? It was a mess.

I’m not so sensitive I can’t handle the truth. If it smells like cat pee, tell me where and I’ll fix it.

So, we’re all basically yelling at each other at 7:30am. It was brutal.

Here’s what I know. I can’t control my mother’s nose. If she’s exaggerating about the smell (and I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose), that’s her deal. Only she knows. If she’s being honest then I have a horrible sense of smell.

Either way she’s going to say it smells like cat pee, as she does every time. And that’s going to trigger the “It’s all my fault” pattern in me. And I’m going to go nuts and explode.

So, how do I avoid this?

Well, first is to make sure the place actually doesn’t smell like cat pee. After this ordeal I ordered a three pack of professional cleaners to come over. After three cleaning sessions it should be roses in here. As a dude this is a solid investment.

Second is to learn to release control of someone else’s hangups. I’m a big control freak and need things to happen exactly the way I want them too. Not a good strategy in life. I’m working on it.

Also, I need to remember that aside from their best intentions moms are just built to annoy their kids. It’s the way of the bushido.

I am picking on my mom a bit. My oSex co-host, Karen sent me a message today saying I have the greatest parents in the world. We all went to a Cubs game last night. She’s right. I’m very lucky. 99.9% of the time we get along perfectly and they’re generous, supportive, and loving.

She’s coming back this Thursday to spend the night again. I will hear more about the smell. I will not go nuts. I will not go nuts. I will not go nuts.

But, since I’ll definitely go nuts, I’ll try to record the audio so you can see just how batty I get. Will make for a great post.

But this post is about revenge, people.

In the past I’ve talked about how I’ve fantasized of beating her silly each time she urinates outside the box. People were really upset that I admitted to having that thought. But every mom has had the idea of wringing their child’s neck at least once, and unless you have a really uncool local police that convicts people with crimes of the mind, it’s totally normal to have those moments. So, to reiterate, I have never beaten my cat.

I beat her mentally today though.

Oh, one last fantasy. Well, the word fantasy is a bit strong. But I always thought it would be funny if I made one’s and two’s in her litter box, just to show her whose boss. I’m boss, you hear me, cat! I’m boss!

During Christmas break I was in Peoria, IL at my childhood home. Thankfully the parents still live there or I’d be camping out in some other kid’s bedroom. (that joke really bombed) Anynuts, instead of leaving my cat alone for seven days which would be borderline cruel, I decided to take her to the groomer. Not to be groomed, mind you, but to be boarded.

The groomer, Galdy, handles the dog when I’m away. She sleeps with him and everything. He’s awesome. It occurred to me that he might take cats. He does. So, for only the fourth time in her life of four years, she was going to leave the condo. Even though she walks around on my deck and never down the wooden steps, she is not used to leaving the condo. I mean, she’s freaked like I’m sure any cat would be. I just had to get her to the car and she crawled under the passenger seat dash and was cool. I think she was meowing the whole time but I was jamming out to old Ted Nugent with my earbuds in. Wang Dang Sweet Poontang is a classic, readers!

When I got to Galdy I remember that he was, first, a groomer. I know this sounds silly, but I had forgotten because neither my cat nor dog had ever been groomed. It just isn’t necessary for them.

As I was paying I was reminded of an ex-cat that my wife and I had who looked like a big lion. He had all sorts of ailments and couldn’t clean himself well, so my ex would have her vet techs give him a lion cut every few months. It was hilarious.

Can you do a lion cut?

But, of course!

This is how goofy I am. I didn’t really order the lion cut to get back at my cat. I love her and I’ve grown to accept her  occasional  cat pee blunders. When she’s on her meds, she’s great. The truth is that I wanted to do the lion cut because I thought it would make for a hilarious story. And a decent blog post.

When I went to pick her up today she was running around the groomers and just looked ridiculous. I loved it. Now that she’s home she’s happy as a clam and I’m glad to have her back. The dog’s happy, too.

Sadly, this picture doesn’t do the ridiculousness justice. But, it’s a start.

This post will not be about cat pee, by the way.

One of the challenges with  administering  Prozac to my cat is how to get it in her body. There’s really only a few options. The first is to shotgun it in her mouth with a plastic syringe. This is most effective, yet most dangerous. There are all sorts of videos on how to fire a pill down a cat’s throat, and it’s usually a two person job. You can do the liquid Prozac this way, too. What happened with my cat is that within a week she started hiding from me. The only other option is transdermal gel. You rub it into the inside of her ears. There’s a lot of debate about the efficacy of this technique since the drug molecules may or may not enter the cat’s membranes due to size.

But, here’s what I do know – her pupils get crazy big after about half an hour. That’s a stoned cat. It works.

I texted my  veterinarian  ex-wife about the big pupils and she said, “You’ve got a high kitty!”

And high kitty doesn’t pee outside her box. Huzzah for the good people at Eli Lilly.

Okay, moving on from that. Thanks for bearing witness to my indulgence.

Spending so much energy on my cat was important to me because she most likely has a stress that is causing her to pee. But, since I’m a human, I don’t know what it is. As her owner (yes, humans own animals – it’s okay) it’s my responsibility to do everything I can to help her. And, for now, this solution works. I’ve tried about a dozen other strategies.

I hope this means I’m going to be a good parent. I also think, however, that we all need someone who is looking out for us and will do things to make us feel good. I know that my biggest challenge in life is shame. That I’m never quite doing enough. Since I’m not yet totally self-sufficient to soothe and honor my accomplishments, I enlist surrogates. I have friends that call me up to tell me that I’m doing okay. I also use family, support groups, etc.

I’m embarrassed to say that when I metaphorically look in the mirror I see the fat – I suspect many of us do. But we need people that don’t even know to look at the fat in us. And we need to lean on those mofos when we can’t pull ourselves up. Most importantly, you must trust those people’s perceptions are actually more accurate than your own, even though your mind will tell you otherwise.

I think our job after that is to still look in the mirror, see the fat and go, “Well, that is fat there. But I don’t hate myself for having it. I’m fat – okay. And I’d like to shave off some pounds. But what if I learned to love myself along the way?”

My big fear is that would decrease my motivation to fixing things that need to be fixed. My experience has told me that shaming myself doesn’t change anything. This is the bane of the perfectionist.

So, for now I need my friends to champion me every so often. I also need to champion someone else, like my cat. Lastly I should spend some time in the mirror getting friendly with my fat.

Note – I’m actually pretty cool with myself in the mirror. But that’s because I’m vain. It’s everything else I have a hard time looking at.

photo credit: andres.thor via photopin cc

I’m going to explain the wreckage of past and present. The destruction left in her wake. I know wake is a noun referencing past events but let’s imagine she’s still speeding along in a cigarette boat. That way the expression works a little better.

Specifically, I’m talking about the hardwood. She has decimated an area of my flooring. I am so embarrassed by this that I can’t even bear to snap a photo. You’d turn on me faster than a  simile  of something turning really fast on something else. It’s so bad that I’m going to have to get a floor guy out here to see if they can replace the affected area.

This is not a random spot in the condo – it’s right next to her litter box. She, quietly over time has peed just outside the box enough for me not to pay attention. It’s in a dark part of the house and, let’s face it, I’m not exactly Mary Poppins. I mean, I can sing and all, but ask me to sweep a chimney and I’m all thumbs.

I don’t know how it got this bad, but several years have gone by now since my ex-wife moved out. She sort of attended to that. Since I just live here I never notice the awful smell  emanating  from my otherwise nice condo. It’s bad. I know this because every time my parents come to stay they comment the moment they walk in. Well, I decided today on a bike ride that enough was enough.

The floor probably won’t get fixed until January but I’m not living in stank for the next month. Oh, as a quick update. Since my cat is back on the Prozac she’s been pretty good. If that doesn’t work I will hire one of the most respected cat behaviorists in the country to customize a plan. It’s $500 but, hey, new floorboards aren’t cheap either. I’m almost hoping she starts pissing everywhere just so I can see this vet in action. What fun!

I did some massive cleaning of the area today including washing the floor and  vacuuming. I bent down to smell and it still stunk of death. I was afraid it had soaked into the floorboards. Then I remembered two things. My ex-wife and I stupidly put an old doormat under the litter box. Not a great call for a cat who misses the target. Also, even though we spared no expense on our pets, instead of buying a box with an attached back, we opted for the more stylish wicker cover.

I’m actually really good about doing a deep-cleaning of the litter pan every few months. I pull it out and scrub all the nonsense. But, for two years it never once occurred to me to pull the cover off and clean the wicker. Well, it finally did today. I pulled the thing off, took it out to the balcony and gave it a whiff. Bingo. I assumed over the years it had soaked up cat vapor.

Not so.

I turned it around to the back and found the cause of the stench. The cat had been spraying the back of the cover for God knows how long. I could see the evidence and there was lots of it. I immediately threw it away and went to PetSmart to buy her a new box that’s enclosed with a back wall. I also got a big rubber mat  just in case she starts peeing outside the box.

Well, I just sprayed a vinegar-water solution on the busted flooring and then coated the area with baking powder. Next will come the hydrogen peroxide, and lastly the  enzymatic cleaner.

Oh, by the way, whenever I sell this condo if any one of you jokers forwards this post to a prospective buyer I’m going to exact revenge  in the cruelest way I know how – by continuing to write about my cat urine troubles.

Well, just a few minutes back realized I missed not only the broadcast but that it wouldn’t magically go on Youtube seconds later. I need to write. So here I am. With nothing.

I’m going to start tonight by formally announcing that my cat is back on Prozac. I kind of did a dick move whilst on holiday (British people say weird stuff!) by leaving her alone for five days. She had the run of the house and tons of food and water but no human interaction. I forgot to set up having someone come over once a day to play with her.

No, wait. That’s not true. The reason I didn’t have anyone come over is because I believe my house smells like cat pee. I won’t go through the whole cat-pee saga, as I’ve spoke to it ad nauseum. Basically, though, I need a cleaning crew to really nail this place. Then I’m going over it with a blacklight to find cat water. I just haven’t done it yet.

When I got home the cat was excited. So excited she peed four, yes four, times not in her litter box during the course of the evening. I won’t get into details because I still fill up with rage thinking about it. However, I didn’t blame or shame her. I mean, I was gone for five days. I’m willing to take two just because she was probably mad at me, but four is a little excessive.

I called my ex-wife earlier today and asked her what med options are available and what I should do. Can’t punt the cat as she and the dog are best pals. Can’t get her another cat to play with during the day – this may solve if she’s lonely or make her pee more to mark territory. Christina gave me a well-respected cat behaviorist to go see. Other than the Prozac there isn’t much on the med side you can do. She said it’s possible to inject Valium, but most vets aren’t going to be keen on handing out that script.

I also ordered a cat calming collar, refills on that Feliaway plug-in pheremone thing, and a crazy looking toy to keep her busy while I’m at work.

My new routine is this – as soon as I get home I use DaBird, which is a stick and  a bunch of feathers on it. You swing it back and forth and it flies like a actual bird. Cats go crazy for this thing, and it activates their prey instinct which is important. Then I rub the Prozac into her ears which she hates quite a bit.

The bottom line is I’m committed to solving this cat’s pee problem. She’sa  sweet and loving cat and purrs if you just walk over to her. She licks the dog’s neck and back every night and curls up with me while I sleep. All in all a great cat. If she just could limit herself to peeing in the bathtub I would probably nominate her for Cat Fancy‘s mothly “Prettiest Perfect Pussy” award. Oh wait, I may be getting that confused with another magazine. My mistake.

Since cat pee smells so bad on its own, I’m wondering if asparagus has the opposite effect. Instead of making it smell like you’re dying from the inside, perhaps asparagus neutralizes cat odor. And, if I remember all the Animal Planet I used to watch stoned as a teenager, I’m pretty sure that cat’s love eating green vegetables. I’ll steam the asparagus first, though. I’m not a monster.

Well, there was the post. And before you send me a stop with the cat pee posts already! email, please realize it’s midnight and I didn’t think I was doing anything other than having you push play and listen to a grown man make fun of the Swiss and English on-air.

Thanks for reading.

photo credit: mynikfoto via photopin cc

Earlier this month I crossed over thirty thousand Twitter followers. I’ve learned quite a bit about Twitter, having followers, and what it all means for me. And even though I shamefully bought my first few thousand friends, I earned every subsequent one fair and square. Twitter has become my main source of blog traffic according to my analytics.

But that’s not the best part of having 30k tweeps.

I’ve carefully watched my follower count rise over the past year and I have now passed the critical point where…

I can get validation on anything I goddamn well type.

We all need validation. Inside of the most confident person is that one loose strand of their identity that, when pulled, causes insecurity to pour forth. For me often it’s my crazy ideas. I want to share them but I’m afraid of being seen as batshit crazy.

Once you hit thirty thousand Twitter followers there will be somebody who is on board with your nuttiness. You’ll tweet something like, “Thinking of wheeling Grandpa into traffic today!” and two people will reply with, “Dude, I totally almost did that with my Grandfather today, too!” And, voila! The thought about killing Gampops is no longer shameful.

Nothing sucks more than being alone. With 30k followers you are never alone.

Tweet about the fart you made during sex last week. Seventeen people will reply with, “Happens to me every Thursday!” Talk about the time you stole something really obscure from Walgreens like a pack of giant chewy Sweet Tarts. Even if nobody else has ever stolen that, a few of your followers will tweet back with, “Those are the BEST – normal size rots!”

For some reason this doesn’t work at 20k or 25k followers. You need 30k. The other nice thing is that most of the time you won’t even recognize the people responding. It will seem like you have new friends each time you get a reply. You’ll find yourself saying, “69JohnnyLips also thinks pastels go best with linen khakis. I’m doing this!”

Now, nothing in life that’s ever worthwhile is easy. Getting to a point where you are validated every time you tweet something isn’t a quick jog around the condo. It’s a marathon of putting in a minimum of an hour a day of  building the base of followers. You have to get involved and make it so people feel like they have to follow you. This is a lot of work.

But the payoff is great. Feeling alone on a Sunday morning and eating boiled asparagus and kettle corn will never again seem weird. Someone out there will reply, “OMG – that sounds AMAZING!!!!!!” It’s easy to think of yourself as a weirdo when you don’t have anyone to tell you that you’re great. You need those people.

Take a photo of your cat. No matter what the cat is doing/not doing you will receive at least four, “What a cute kitten. She’s a good girl!”

By the way, since you love hearing about my cat-pee stories, today when I got home I made my way to the restroom to move some earth. I have one of those stand up shower stall things with a drain in the middle. Weird that it’s considered fancy but just has a hole in the floor. Anyway, while I was doing how I do, the cat walks into the shower squats and pees, all while looking at me. I saw it trickle down into the drain. She has now peed in both bath stalls in the past few days. Amazing.

Here’s the other benefit with having thirty thousand followers. I get one-two tweets/direct messages a day telling me how funny I am. These are unsolicited. The best kind of validation. I heard when you get to 50k you get three a day. Nothing better than sitting at work daydreaming of the semi-attractive chick in accounts payable and up pops a, “Your tweets make me smile – and I just wanted to say thanks, mofo!”

So, hop to it. Network like crazy and build that fan base. Stop going to your family and friends for validation. They’re sick of supporting you. Anonymous people online are where it’s at. They’re just waiting to tell you how great you are. But you must find them. Go find them and raise your esteem. It’s worth it.