I returned from a Spanish holiday to discover that my bedroom smelt decidedly off. Musty. Unpleasant. Not unlike my son’s’s room, where the prompt washing of clothes isn’t always considered a priority. He also works with industrial quantities of sumac, a particularly pungent spice.
Anyway, I accepted it. Initially.
I pride myself on my domestic prowess. My house is clean, even if it isn’t always tidy.
I don’t possess Jude’s extraordinary superpower, something we affectionately called clearing the decks.
It was, ostensibly, a tidying exercise. In reality, it involved hiding shit.
There was no discernible logic to the process. Important documents, clothing, assorted household objects — all would be ferreted away into locations known only to Jude. And sometimes, apparently, not even to her.
You could be unfortunate enough to put your car keys down during one of these operations. Seconds later, they’d disappeared.
“Where are my keys?”
“No idea. You shouldn’t leave things lying around!”
“But I literally just put them down!”
What followed was invariably a treasure hunt, often without the assistance of the person responsible for concealing the treasure.
Jude’s a loss. Her filing system? Not so much.
Consequently, my own house is sometimes untidy. There’s currently a mountain of paperwork belonging to my eldest son, including correspondence concerning £1,200 HMRC owes him. Apparently, recovering this money lacks sufficient urgency to merit action.
We have a shredder. Unfortunately, it’s not my paperwork to shred.
But I digress.
Back to the bedroom and its newly acquired aroma.
By today, I’d had enough. Something was amiss, and I was determined to establish the cause.
I changed the bedding. Showered. Changed my clothes, ready for church. Not that personal hygiene was a credible suspect. I wear a fresh T-shirt to work every day, thank you very much. 😀
Nevertheless, I conducted a thorough investigation.
And eventually, beneath my bed, I discovered the culprit.
The cat had shat 💩 under it.
Polly, almost certainly.
Bastard!
The offending deposit was removed, the crime scene subjected to multiple household cleaning interventions, and domestic order restored.
And I experienced an unexpected sense of relief.
Not happiness, obviously. Who could possibly be glad that a cat had crimped one off beneath their bed?
But at least the mystery was solved.
It wasn’t me.
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