Traysi — a word about Traysi: she’s a dancer, and she owns the funky ethnic shop “Indeja” in Cuba Street where Chris and I found the belly dance class and Hossam Ramzy workshop flyers, and she has the lifestyle I want, which is to say, she flies to funky exotic places and buys funky things to sell in her shop. (sigh) This also means she has tons of kewl stuff, jewelry, funky clothes, etc. Oh, and fabulous spiky pink/purple/orange hair.
Anyway, Traysi, a thousand blessings upon her, has loaned (given, actually) me her old vacuum cleaner, to use until I finish my anal retentive comparison shopping and buy one of my own.
Back up. Okay, cat litter.
Warning: Oversharing is Imminent.
Most Kiwis seem to use regular sort of absorbant stuff made from recycled newpapers or something. The kind you change. However, you *can* get the clumping kind of cat litter here, and I’ve been trying out the different brands, looking for, as the Kiwis would put it, the best value for money.
As near as I can tell, the clumping efficiency of cat litter is in direct proportion to its fineness. You got big chunky grains, you got not so great clumping. You got what is effectively dust, you got neat little balls of solidified cat wee, all ready to be scooped and discarded (twice a day, because the two cat boxes are in rooms I live in, for pity’s sake (because, you know, small apartment)).
However, there is another feature of cat litter — one I’d never been particularly bothered about before — that is *also* in a direct proportion to how fine it is (and therefore to how well it clumps), and that is its trackability. Yes. You got nice clumping litter, you got it scattered everywhere the cats go. (Ah. I see you’ve been on the counter while I was gone, you wretched things… AGH. Cat litter on the COUNTER! Ew, ew, ew, get the cleaner…)
So for the last few weeks, I’ve been spending 10 minutes every morning and evening on my knees, brushing up cat litter from as much of the apartment’s carpet as I can muster the energy to do, with a HAND BROOM. Ugh. “This is a labor of love,” I tell myself. “This is temporary,” I tell myself. “This is driving me BATSHIT,” I finally admit, half-crazed.
But Traysi, may her hair never fade, has given me a vacuum. It’s held together with tape, it smells kinda funny, and it does bugger all to get up the shed fur the cats have been determinedly putting down in a near-solid sheet (I’d swear this carpet was blue when I moved in…). But it picks up the tracked litter, by gum, and that is *such* a relief I just can’t express it.
— for Snog Week Countdown, see previous post.