Tango

We went over the mountains today to deliver a cat to her new home. Tango is described as "a really beautiful girl. She is friendly and loving, but a bit shy of stressful situations."

Please note the last part of that sentence, because it plays a major role in the story.

Scott and I picked Tango up at the Woodinville Petsmart. We do love the Oasis folks, you know, since they saved our cats and all, and thought it would be nice to meet Tango's new mom halfway from where she lives, deliver Tango up, and voila! Tango gets sprung from the rescue after a year, we open up a spot to save another cat, her new mama doesn't have to drive 7 hours one way, and we get to go east of the mountains, which we've never done before. She is a cute girl.

We pick Tango up and start driving. All is going well until we get about 30 minutes into the ride. She starts crying and fussing in her crate, so Scott leans around and starts petting her. That seems to calm her down. Jean (from Oasis) had mentioned that we shouldn't let Tango out of her crate, since she is a bit skittish and stresses out. Jean also noted that she probably wouldn't need to go to the bathroom because Tango was "constipated with fear." Which, BTW, is my new favorite phrase. Foreshadowing alert!

We drive a bit farther and my venti coffee is hitting me, so we stop for a rest break. We switch driving, and I go into the back and get Tango out of her crate so she can sit on my lap and see around. She's sitting on my lap, looking around, clawing my abdomen as she sees fit, and then calms down and sits in my lap. She's shaking a bit, so I snuggle her and give her some chin rubs. All of a sudden...

Ewwww, Scott says. Does she stink? I smile and keep petting Tango. She's just scared, I said. I think she might have let out some gas.

We keep driving and I'm petting Tango, and then I move her over. And see a big turd. Biiiig. BIIIGGGG turd. I am simultaneously grossed out and horrified. Scott looks down and says, "Oh fuck." Yeah, that's really all you can say to that. Unfortunately we're now in Nowhereville going over Snoqualmie Pass, so there are No. Rest. Areas. I move her over and keep snuggling her, plucking the poop off my lap with a tissue. I also try to not look at Scott, who would be driving with his head out the window if he could, and is giving me a look somewhere between disgusted adoration and vomitous understanding.

We get over to the lovely town of Cle Elum, and as we are approaching it I realize, oh NO. Tango has also pooped on the other half of my lap. And then I made her sit in it. So now it's on my leg, my arm, and my boobs. At this point I can do nothing but laugh. Laugh at the absurdity of the situation (hello, I'm covered in shit from an anxiety-ridden cat and I have nobody to blame but myself) and to keep myself from getting angry, because there's nothing I can do until we hit Burger King. (Shout out to the King, you have lovely bathrooms!)

We pull into the parking lot, I pull the turds off of me, and then put the cat back into her crate. I saunter into BK, trying to look as normal as possible, seeing as how I am head to toe covered in cat poop. I realize that no amount of water is going to take care of this stank, so I head back out to the car and realize, Voila! Haven't yet dropped off the donation bag to Goodwill!

I find a blue sweater and an ankle-length purple skirt. I'm in the middle of the BK parking lot, with tourists all around, so I did the sane, rational thing. Stripped off the shit shirt and put on the sweater, dropped trou and put on the skirt. I might add I kept on my Cookie Monster socks and my brown clogs. Now I look like an Amish girl on crack, who still slightly stinks of cat poop.

We continued on to Ellensburg, where we met up with the adopter, who was so excited to get Tango (side note: Tango is very lucky to have such a great new mama) that she didn't notice that my clothes were bizarre, and wrinkled, and nothing matched. (And may I remind you, I am seeing a SEE THROUGH skirt with no slip and Cookie Monster socks.) We filled out the paperwork and started to drive back to Seattle.

On the way back, I called Oasis and filled them in. Jean was laughing so hard she may have been crying, and she really really liked the report. Scott kept saying, "I think I still smell poop." We got home, I was sure to scrub everything, and as I was doing so, I realized that MORE POOP was in the car, and had rolled under the passenger seat. Jesus. Christ. I have never seen such prolific poop from an eight-pound animal.

So that was my Saturday, y'all. I am happy to report that the clothes and the car are now cleaned, and as God is my witness, I will never remove a cat from its crate again.

Update: In another first, when getting ready for bed I realized that I somehow have a large, deep kitty scratch. On my boob. I am now marinating my boob in Neosporin. Fab.