I might have been better off had I stayed in bed.

Okay the day hasn't been so smooth as I had planned.  No day ever is.  But, whatever.  I'll also warn you now that there is bad language to follow.

The most offensive event took place about two hours ago.   I was finally getting around to changing the kitties litter.   I usually do the obligatory scooping and then add a little fresh litter and we're good for another day or two.   This method only works for so long before it's time for a total overhaul.    Today was the designated overhauling.

Since I was planning to dump the entire contents I didn't scoop.  I just positioned my trash bag, as I always do  for this job.  Picture it:  I am kneeling in front of the rather large box and I'm preparing to lift it and dump the contents directly into the well-placed garbage bag (which is always held securely against the edge of the box to ensure that I don't miss).    Heave.   Tip the litterbox toward the bag and myself.  It's all going as planned.  I feel the thud of the clumps and remaining contents dropping into the bag.  Said bag is also sort of lying in my lap...you might already sense where I'm going with this...in the corner of my eye I note a clump of perfectly clumped cat pee rolling across the floor.  Next comes the dawning realization that the entire well-clumped box has been emptied right into my lap!!!  It missed that well-placed garbage bag entirely.  In fact, all that bag managed to do was block my view of what was taking place.

Que the loud shouts of "DAMN!!"  (hey - this circumstance called for a well-placed expletive...I might have said more...but that's classified)

So now I'm kneeling there with a mountain of cat poop and dirty litter piled on my knees and all I can say is, "DAMN!"  "DAMN!!" "DAMN!!!"

I think now is a good time to tell you that the closet where the litterbox is kept is also in my son's bedroom  and he was trying to sleep.  He'd been up until 4am  (where do these kids find the energy to do that?) and now he was hearing  his Mother (who doesn't, as a general rule, say bad words) have a hissy fit in the closet.   I was pondering what to do next!   Use my hands to scoop it up?  Eeew.  No. Crawl over to the scooper?  No.  That thing is slotted - it won't help much at all.  "DAMN!" Shout for daughter.   She came to the rescue with a pair of disposable gloves and the vacuum.

It all got cleaned up  and  I still kind of feel like I should take a shower.

The moral of this story?   You tell me.