I consider our cat, Jack, to be me my barometer on my readiness for motherhood. Most mornings it's usually that I can't take his meowing when I leave. I feel so guilty for leaving him alone.
Sunday was a whole different animal. There was kitty vomit. Lots of it.
I rounded him up and put him in the bathroom until I knew the coast was clear while the b/f and I proceeded with the clean up. Nothing too painful. Twenty minutes later. Jack was back in my arms getting his tummy rubbed.
Monday morning, the boyfriend advises me on his way out to work (before I was even awake) to be careful where I step. Jack left surprises overnight.
Luckily, I didn't encounter any.
I get home from work later that day to discover that the cat knocked over the bathroom trashcan. The b/f came home soon after and told me what he found that morning. We put two and two together and discovered Jack was a poo eater. Granted, I would never let a child eat poo, but my "Ewww!" tolerance level isn't up to snuff for kids.
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