I had settled comfortably into bed last night when the ShadowCat came, as I thought, for a loving cuddle. But no, he settled on the duvet in an all-too-familiar posture. "ShadowCat, you'd better not be weeing on my duvet!" I said, and he fled in a guilty manner. Luckily - because I was much too tired at that point to change the bedding - he'd only weed a very small amount, and it was on the satin and hadn't yet soaked through; I was able to do a makeshift clean, good enough to live with. Which is lucky, as I was in that bed for most of today (partly because Judy worked a late shift last night, helping out with the riots ... er, I could have phrased that better - and didn't get in till two in the morning), and would've had to have been even if he'd soaked it right through (well, okay, maybe not). I'll get everything in the wash tomorrow, before I go to the JR. If everything isn't dry when I get home, or I'm too tired to make the bed, I can use Judy's sleeping bag for a night.
It looks as if he might've weed behind the TV, too. *sigh*
We'll stop on the way to the JR to get the Boy some of the expensive urinary tract biscuits he had last time this happened, and hope they do the trick.
His timing really does suck. The last time he did this was right around when my mother died, and now, of course, I'm not well enough to deal with a crisis. I wonder if he might be picking up on the atmosphere and be upset by it? I dunno. Cat psychology, not my forte.
Life: it's just one bloody thing after another, innit?
