I was often told by visitors to my last apartment that for a single dude, I had a remarkably clean home. What they meant was that it was organized. When it came to cleanliness, I still had a few mountains to climb. Most surfaces could be kept clean, but when it came to dust, it was just tooo much for me to handle. I never could understand how I was creating so much dust, and eventually I just gave up. When I moved a couple months ago, every piece of furniture would be moved to reveal an even bigger dust bunny than the last. By the end, we had dust bunnies bigger than actual bunnies.
So I’m used to dust, is the point. But now I’m experiencing a whole new phenomenon: tumbleweeds of cat fur. Whereas before dust bunnies would form in out-of-reach, under-the-couch-like areas, now they’re appearing anywhere and everywhere, and at a rate never before imagined. (Like bunnies, in fact.) Sarah tells me this is due to shedded cat fur attaching itself to the baseboards, where it waits, like a silent killer, until it has enough mass to fall to the ground. At which point it persists in taunting me with its infernal dustiness.
We clean them up as soon as they appear, but, of course, it doesn’t end. It never will. Until they invent shedless cats, or we shed ourselves of these beasts, this will always be a problem. I’ll put up with it, but it’s going on my list of reasons why poodles are the best pets ever. (Reason #102: they don’t shed.) Meanwhile, we’ll have to wait to see if these perpetual dust-making machines force my OCD to go haywire. Right now I’d put the odds at 50-50. Everytime I feel I’m on the edge of going overboard, Clementine performs some hyper-cute antic and pulls me back. Never did I think my emotional well-being would be so controlled by a feline.