Once upon a time, my husband and I had two cats. We loved them dearly, but as with most new parents, the moment a child was on the way, the albums of cuddling cats (which I'm sure were perused by no one) were at once replaced with photos of a baby belly and nursery preparations.
The cats remained in the house until their jealousy got the better of them and their bodily functions (if you catch my drift). Thus, two cats kicked out of the house, a craigslist sale to someone who insisted she didn't mind purchasing furniture which smelled like a litter box and a newly acquired garage sale living room set later, we found our home pet-free (at least on the inside) and the our home recovered from its regular urine dousing (disgusted yet?).
Until we had a potty trainer. Now, lest you think our home has reached any state of atrocity, let me assure you most "accidents" are confined to our laminate flooring, and, thus, have been quickly and easily dealt with. Last night, however, she was sitting right on our wonderful $40 couch when she leaked quite proficiently.
And an hour or so after she went to bed and I sat on the couch, I could smell it. I sighed.
Apparently she hasn't learned from the mistakes of others. At least the dog house* has a heater for her . . .
*I feel I must confess for those who may not know me or have issues interpreting sarcasm: my daughter is not now, nor ever has been, nor ever will be, living in the literal dog house. She could urinate on the sofa every day from now until the moment she turns 18 and we would still not kick her into residing outdoors. Although, should that occur, we may look into boarding schools or really good plastic furniture.
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