And then a dog peed on our washing machine

Yesterday morning, I woke to find my whole room flooded with water. I yelled “WHAT” loudly, to which my sister replied from her own room “THERE IS WATER EVERYWHERE”. This is what we get for sleeping until noon. Turns out, the second floor bathroom’s drain had not only gotten clogged, it started spewing out water. Cats were going nuts; they took to higher ground like bookshelves, study tables and the tops of cabinets, all the while meowing very, very loudly. I tried to tell them to calm down and that this wasn’t a new way of bathing them all, but I don’t think they believed me. Have you ever tried to calm down a room full of felines? It is pretty damn hard. It’s like herding…well, you know. Anyway, there were much pressing matters to be dealt with. My sister frantically ran back and forth, picking up everything on the floor, making sure everything electrical was out of the way, taping up every exposed socket. Meanwhile, I set to attack said drain with two plungers, several, various types of pangsungkit, and all the liquid Sosa in the house. After a while and no discernible difference, I decided to do the right thing and call in the professionals. With the call made, there was nothing left to do but wait and deal with the flood water, which by now had started to flow down the stairs and all the way to the kitchen. Thankfully, it only took a few minutes for the professional help to arrive and even fewer minutes for them to sort out the problem. I don’t know what it was exactly that clogged the drain, I got a good look at it as they were taking it out to throw it. It reminded me of the Horta, only even hairier. Perhaps I should have attempted to communicate, it might have been just as scared as I was (NO KILL). After that, it was down to mopping up the whole place. Two and a half hours later, my sister and I were finished and both late for work. We stood, surveying the drying rooms and mellowing cats, and that’s when we saw him. The neighborhood stray dog, big, brown and healthy-looking, he was actually a friendly old thing. He had wandered into our gate, which we had left open to let the plumbers in, walked right up to the front of our house and started peeing on our washing machine. “THERE’S A DOG PEEING ON OUR WASHING MACHINE,” yelled my sister as she ran outside to scare him away. I was too busy laughing. Up until then, it had been a crappy day, but life found a way to remind me there was always more. It was like lovingly telling me to go fuck myself. I was okay. I was now ready for anything. The next time I see that dog, I’ll give it a nice treat.

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