Smells like

I was in obsessive-compulsive heaven last night. We are expecting houseguests today and last night was my last ditch effort to get our home into acceptable shape. As you may or may not know, we share our living quarters with five cats. That means five times the fun when it comes to litter and cat hair. So, last night I was assigned to cat hair containment and other sundry chores.

Our guests, while cat lovers themselves, may not welcome stray tumbleweeds of hair making the trip home with them.

I had a plan of action. I was dressed in the appropriate attire. (The "My God, Don't Wear That Out of the House" kinda garb.) I had multiple rags and products at my disposal. I was ready to work. Vacuuming, dusting, vacuuming again, mopping, spraying, opening doors, closing doors, washing machines running, dryers humming, brooms brushing. . . and assorted mayhem.

At about 9 p.m., I sat down on the couch, gingerale in hand (I told you I was my grandmother) and collapsed. I was tired. I was wooped. I was tuckered (and obviously from Kentucky). But man did the house smell good. I even noticed one of our cats lifting her nose to enjoy the fresh smell. Yes, it was that fresh.

I had a little discussion with the cats, and they promise to attempt not to shed all weekend long. However, if a there is a loud noise or someone starts a fight, all bets are off. There is always a good "out" clause in every contract.

So, a few last minute touches await and we will be ready for Guest Entry. Cynical has yard patrol (his favorite of household duties.) I have laundry and sweeping duties. The cats, well, they will be attempting to not fight or lose hair. Pantry is stocked. Wine is chilled. We are set.

Cynical, our own Julie McCoy (for those Love Boat fans out there), has planned a multitude of events sure to tire our guests out. We finally banned together and voted against ice skating as we really didn't want to spend our weekend sore and embarrassed.

We will drag our dear friends through a rite of passage for each autumn: the apple festival. Anything and everything you ever wanted made out of an apple. Not as much fun as I suspect a sauer kraut festival would be, but entertaining none-the-less.

Big plans for eating out. A promise to Needlefingers to make a Target run. (Goodness, you know how I fought her on that one! Me at Target, never happens!) A pledge by Needlefingers to turn me into a knitter. (Better cross your fingers or your needles on this one.)

Talk of geocaching. (Another new hobby for me to try.) And I am sure lots of good conversation, blogging humor and maybe some sleep.

Oh, and I may try to slip "Napoleon Dynamite" in there too. Fun for all!

When I saved the photo to my hard-drive, I named it "basket case", which I think is often appropriate for me. I thought it was a perfect name for a photo taken by someone that readily admits to being obsessive-compulsive.