Ever have one of those moments that starts off bad, and then gets steadily worse? I had a doozy of one yesterday.
My sister took the kids to Busch Gardens, so I volunteered for Kimba duty Sunday night thru Tuesday morning. You all may remember Kimba from my Christmas pictures (and from the cartoon jungle, where he saved the animals every week back in the 70s). I wish I had pictures from the scene yesterday, but this old picture of him will have to do.
So I spend Sunday night with him, he and Sheba (pictured above right) sharing the bed with me, and most of Monday. Kimba is an amazing dog, extremely friendly, gentle, and fairly obedient as long as you are with him. He has progressed to the point where he does not need to be caged when he is alone in the house, as long as the house is dog-proofed. I was hanging with them Monday evening, and got a phone call that I was late for meeting someone. I hate being late, so rushed out the door.
I returned a couple hours later and discovered that I had forgotten the above caveat of life with Kimba. I left without ensuring that the home was dog-proofed.
I walked into the kitchen and found a pile of knawed-on trash in the middle of the floor. I had forgotten to close the laundry room door, where the trash can is kept. The trash can wasn't too full thankfully, but Kimba successfully pulled it out into the middle of the kitchen and pulled everything out of it. He had chewed up a carton of something Truffles ice cream (it was good, thanks Sis!), and licked/chewed every remnant of flavor out of it. I told him, "bad dog, no biscuit!" of course, but not in a forceful way, as I knew that it was pretty much my fault.
So I silently scolded myself, cleaned up the mess, and thought that I got off fairly lucky, as it could have been much worse.
Well, it got worse.
I next walked into the living room, where I saw that I had also forgotten to put away my vanilla wafers and peanut butter (yes, I had a sweet tooth Sunday/Monday). I had of course closed the PB jar, and closed the wafer box after carefully sealing the bag to preserve freshness. Luckily Kimba was not able to gnaw thru the PB, but he had been able to open the Nilla Wafers. Strangely, it appeared that he had eaten very few of them. Perhaps he only likes them with peanut butter, like me? No, I later find out why he wasn't very hungry.
Next, I look in my sister's room and find that he had dragged a box of cereal from the area next to the fridge. Luckily, he was not able to get into the box, a gnawed on corner proved that he was beginning that task. Perhaps he was at this job when my arrival stopped him. I am actually a bit in the clear on this problem, as I had nothing to do with the cereal, it was in its normal vulnerable position. But I imagine the other treats I had allowed him newly unfettered access to had worked him into a stupefying frenzy, emboldening him to go for the gusto and eat everything within reach.
I trepidaciously continued my search. He had not knocked over the double height dog gate (insert picture here) into Anthony's room (and Sheba's safe haven), so I was safe there. The bathroom however, was not safe. Not safe for Kimba, not safe for Sheba, not fit for humans to dare enter. The bathroom door is always closed, Kimba is never allowed in there. For that room leads into the closet where Sheba's food is kept.
You know the obvious, all of Sheba's cat food was gone. Poor Sheba was walking around my legs, mewing, asking me, "why did the white beast eat 3 days worth of my food in 2 minutes?" But perhaps not, she already knew the worst. Kimba ate more than the entire contents of a trash can and a huge pile of cat food.
Did you know that dogs love cat pooh? I was vaguely aware of it, and perhaps Pam had even told me that the main reason for keeping the bathroom door closed was to prevent the horrible scene I witnessed as I peered into the closet at the normally neatly covered cat litter box. Kimba had knocked the box open, scattering a huge pile of litter into Anthony's normally clean and sparse closet. The clumps of cat pee were still there, but all the other deposits were gone. This is where I really regretted letting Kimba lick me hello when I originally arrived. Just writing about makes me want to shower again.
A closer inspection of the house found bits of cat litter and pooh spread everywhere. He had tracked it into each and every room, and even the bathtub, where he had washed it all down by drinking Sheba's water (a common phenomenon is that cats sometimes love to drink bathtub water, so Pam keeps her bowl in the tub).
Kimba had apparently carried much of his booty into Jaime's room, where he lay on her Spongebob chair and dined on cat pooh and more trash from the kitchen.
I spent some time cleaning all these messes, finding bits of pooh and trash in every room, but as it usually happens in situations like this, I only had 4 hours until having to wake for work, and it was too late to vacuum. So, unfortunately, I had to leave much of the mess for my sister.
And to make matters worse, Kimba did not pooh that night or the next morning when I walked him. Apparently, clumping litter clumps in more ways than one. I had to leave for work knowing that he may make another mess before Pam got home.
So perhaps my sister is justified in disowning me. I violated the prime Kimba directive, one that she had taught me and I had promised to uphold. Perhaps she will punish us my banishing us to deepest darkest Africa.
But I'm not worried, Kimba will protect me.
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