Same Day, Different Sh*t.

From widely acclaimed Granny Wrangler to Chicken Wrangler Extraordinaire (who could forget that?) and now, proudly announcing my official promotion to Turd Wrangler Of The Highest Repute. The fun never ends and believe me you've never lived until you've been elbow deep in the fresh excrement of nearly every species in the animal kingdom.

The day started off like any other. I rolled out of bed onto the carpet, examined my feet in dire need of a pedicure and vowed to finally do something about it today, tripped over the rug at the bottom of the stairs (i swear the bastard lies in wait) and grumbled my way through breakfast, bemoaning the contents of my cereal bowl - fibrous enough to pass an elephant, tusks and all. Just an ordinary morning. Save for the fact that one of the cats didn't show up for it's kibbles or mouse terrine or whatever it is they eat, and Muppet was in a mini-flap. Thus began a hunt throughout the entire house kissskisssing and spsssspsssing like a cat on a braai (what i had in mind to do to it when i found the bloody thing). It was eventually found half starved in one of the upstairs bedrooms where it and it's bowels had spent the night, locked in and forgotten about. Gave the room a quick sweep looking for landmines or wet patches and, satisfied that kitty had held it in last night, bless, trudged downstairs again to round off my breakfast with caffeine and nicotine.

Lord & Lady Thinkthayre-Speshill were expected for lunch, which, thanks to my foray into silver service waitressing with which to finance my varsity binges, went swimmingly judging by the gushing accolades bestowed upon me on their departure. I never tire of these. As they were leaving, Lady Whats-Her-Name announced she'd be 'spending a penny' before they spun off in their vulgar automobile and promptly disappeared upstairs. In what seemed like a matter of milliseconds she flew down the stairs, her ample bottom quivering in shock, only to inform Muppet and I rather breathlessly "your cat seems to have relieved itself on your bathroom rug. I just thought it was polite to mention it". Oh joy. For once i didn't appreciate the politeness. I knew what was coming.

As they flew out of the driveway in a shower of gravel, Muppet swung round and gave me that look. That look which says "Poppet i just shot your pony by mistake", or, translated, "be a pet and pop upstairs with a plastic bag will you?". If i was a bloody pet i wouldn't have crapped on the rug on the first place and would be happily curled up on a moth eaten pillow somewhere dreaming of mice and farting occasionally. So, with a painfully professional lack of protestation, I grabbed a Sainsbury's bag, bottle of carpet cleaner, a brush and a gallon of Febreze and made my way up muttering curses not fit for a lady of my stature, with a look of sheer mortification on my face.

I don't see fit to go into detail as i'm sure a little creativity on your part will suffice, however i will say this: the feline from who's bottom the faecal surprise had been born, for all his despicable shortcomings, had the consideration to pass something exquisitely formed and solid enough to allow a swift disposal with a flick of my dainty wrist. Thanks Benson. You're a f*cking rock star. Poes poes poes.