Adventures in de-carpeting

So yeah, there was more to the “Miles was put down” story yesterday than I told you about initially. Now, I don’t want you to hate me or think that he made a bad so I killed him: I swear to you, he was very very ill, in mucho pain and just generally hanging on so as to sleep uncomfortably and sh!t himself to death anyway. So, yeah. Really.

But anyway. He had been sleeping with us for awhile before the day came, because the boys were loving on him so much as to not ever let him have a moment’s rest, right? I was initially concerned about this arrangement, because I like my sleep, and I was envisioning having to constantly get up and let him out to go potty (piss & sh!t). Surprisingly, this didn’t happen. Much. Well, at all, until two nights before his scheduled “appointment” at the vet. Sunday he had started to crap (sh!t) out his insides. Explosive diarrhea? It exists, apparently. I had no idea. The stuff comin’ out of him? Wasn’t poop, it was liquified death. Straight out of his butt.

Yes this is gross. And it gets worse.

So two nights before his “Appointment” at the vet, he had to go. Luckily I was roused enough to hear it and figure out he wasn’t just looking for a good spot to lie down, he was hoping to god that the door would magically open so he could go outside and spew liquified death from his nether regions. Not once! Not twice! Three times that night. After going weeks without having to do potty breaks during the night, suddenly he couldn’t hold himself. The night before his “appointment” at the vet, it continued. Except this time, I wasn’t fast enough. Despite being faster because I was half-expecting it, he didn’t make it out of the bedroom before he unleashed his liquified death upon the carpet.

So at 2am in the morning, there we were, trying not to puke as we boiled water and mixed pet stain odor destroyers together to form a concoction so powerful the world damned-near knelt before us, quivering with fear. Turns out? Still no match for the liquified death that had been slathered richly over the entry to the bedroom. We struggled in vain for a full day to try and get the smell gone. And then we gave up on that, and got smart:

So we were gonna rip up all the carpet anyway, right? Why not start right now, then? Right. So we put our magical rings together and formed Voltron or something, and got to cutting the carpet out of the bedroom. For the night we just started with the strip that contained the — yeah, you get it — stuff. It was the best idea. That smell permeated the whole of the carpet, the padding underneath, and possibly the first three layers of the earth’s crust.

I’ll be back with more of the carpet adventures. For now, enjoy the picture of the finely-crafted wood floor that some stupid f*ckers oversprayed the hell out of because they’d never heard of drop cloths, the mother f*ckers. Oh, and the f*cking staples everywhere that they stapled down the crappy-ass carpet padding with in the middle of the f*cking floor… 

Ahem. Not bitter. Not at all. Why do you ask?