TWO MEN AND A HOUSE

What do you get when you leave two men alone in a house for six weeks?

1. A dishwasher which has been loaded by one person, assumed by the other person to have been put through the wash cycle and cleaned --  and so then unloaded all the dirty dishes and put them away... repeatedly. So every single pot, pan and dish used while I was gone is put neatly away in the cupboards... filthy.

2. The filter for the dryer has six weeks of lint, fiber, animal hair and the odd gum wrapper - approximately seven inches worth.

3. The vacuum cleaner was used at least once to clear the main walking paths in the living areas (probably an hour or so before my plane landed), but the canister had never been emptied. So today before anything could actually be vacuumed, I was forced to dismantle and wash all three filters, air dry, and then reassembled.

4. The poor cat's litter box had probably been cleaned once... or perhaps twice. It's a good thing that he is such a long-suffering feline who will put up with such circumstances.

However, every instance of a dog or cat having, er, shall we say stomach discomfort, was left pure and pristine to both dry in horrid clumps in random corners and to permanently stain the carpet.

Laundry was washed... just then left in piles on top of the dryer.

Food was consumed... evidenced by the crock pots now being a irreversible reddish-brown tint to the white porcelain.

And all animals were fat, healthy and happy... of course, only after the greyhound had an abscessed tooth removed, and the vet's hefty dental bill left conveniently on my desk for payment.

What, ME sound disgruntled?!

NOT QUITE THE RIGHT TIME

Somehow I am extra tired tonight, and I in a fit of community-mindedness volunteered to direct traffic at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning, so I really should simply go to bed but I need to share this first:

My second-child/youngest daughter/second-oldest daughter/next-to-last born/middle child (isn't it fun how many it can be put?) has suddenly been called to work for extremely long shifts (for her, that means more than an hour and a half). She is extra weary (wow, that sounds familiar, doesn't it), and this evening was very very thankful to get home to her little apartment and just stare at the television while she put waited for her uniform to wash in the complex's laundry room.

But she called me around 9:00 p.m. this evening, almost completely hysterical.

Thankfully, I have known this young woman all of her life, and am familiar with her common and recurring habit of blowing situations out of proportion.

So I got her to take some deep breaths, calm down some, and tell me what the problem was.

And this was it:

Someone had removed her laundry from the washer (obviously because it was not removed quickly enough for them), left it on the counter, and (this is the kicker) STOLEN HER SOCKS.

It took another four minutes or so to discover that no, those weren't her only socks, that no, nothing else was missing, and she was able to dry her uniform and have everything ready for work tomorrow.

And it didn't help that when she blurted out "STOLE MY SOCKS," I collapsed into helpless laughter.

I need to learn to control my emotions better - because this kid is never going to be able to.

ANIMAL CRUELITY

Our laundry room is tacked on to the farthest end of our house. And although this placement is convenient for location of a cat's litter box, it isn't practical for something like washing one's clothes.

This small, non-ventilated room is either the coldest or the hottest place in the house. There is barely room for the two machines, let alone folding or hanging garments. During the washer's spin cycle, the pictures on all walls rattle. And at it's loudest, the dryer's ending cycle beep can barely be heard ten feet away, even with the door left open.

This morning, however, I heard just a little too much of something. I was switching clothes from the washer to the dryer (sidebar - I know in Europe they have combination washer/dryers that go through the wash cycle and then in the same machine, dry the clothing - when the heck is that going to catch on over here!?) when I heard a sound that made me pause -

A tiny splashing sound accompanied by a metallic scratching noise.

Now, it couldn't be the cat - unlike most domesticated felines, Pandora is approximately the size of a small lion, and does NOTHING quietly. Both the dogs were sound asleep in front of the television (I know, I know, I should limit the number of soap operas they view daily - I'm trying).

It sounded like it was coming from the boarded off water-heater area to the immediate left of the dryer.

I do not trust my hearing ever, so I grabbed my son and made him listen and track down the noise.

And yes, it was coming from the water-heater. Unmistakably, a mouse or small rat had fallen into the water and was trying frantically to not drown.

Talk about a conflict of emotions.

1) The automatic maternal "RESCUE THE POOR MOUSE!" mode kicks in before anything else. Then...

2) "Yuck, there is a MOUSE in our water supply!" And then...

 3) "OMG how much is it gonna cost to get a plumber to come all the way out here and remove a small carcass from the water heater?

I could not find a plumber who believed the situation - "Lady, (southern accent here), them heaters are self-contained - ain't no way a mouse or a rat could get into one."

So somewhere in my house an animal has died, and I cannot tell if its death is at all related to our water supply.

But I am drinking only Diet Coke in bottles for the next two weeks.