Our Senior Correspondent In Search of an Ark

Read your post yesterday, Mick.
Not feeling so bad for you!
No sex here! No kink here! Nada. Nada. None.

If I may, a few moments to explain, please.

A week ago, just at the midnight hour, Bill and I heard a loud and terrifying sound of a great rushing of water. Within just a few minutes we figured out that a water pipe had burst between the first floor and ground floor of our cabin. In the few minutes it took Bill to get to the shut-off valve, the water covered the entire lower level, five inches deep! Bill and I live on the first floor; the lower level is divided between our daughter's apartment and Bill's library.

Needless to say, we required the immediate assistance of one of those disaster reclamation companies. It took six days to get the water out, the carpeting, vinyl and wallboard cut away, the raised bathroom floor torn up and giant fans in place to get the cement floor on the road to drying out. And now we await Phase II, the repair part of the program.

For those of you who have visited us or seen photos, you know our cabin is not large, and you may be wondering where our daughter is staying during this process. That brings me back around to the No Sex, No Kink issue. Our daughter and her six cats, yes, I said six cats, are living on the first floor, with us. Oh, and did I mention that the six cats are all indoor cats? That means litter boxes, many litter boxes.

Our daughter is a remarkable, very intelligent, autistic adult. She has always loved cats and became involved in Manx cat rescue many years ago. She has a sun-room attached to her apartment that is totally dedicated to her cats, with five huge cat trees and seven or eight litter boxes. The cats are not thrilled to be away from their kitty paradise, and while Bill and I enjoy the cats, we aren't so thrilled with the idea of multiple litter boxes inside our small space. To ameliorate both situations, Bill and Daughter attempted to create an enclosed pen for the cats and their litter boxes on our deck, accessible by a doggie door wedged into a living room window. They were somewhat successful, although it clearly adds a certain Clampet-esque look to the cabin.

Daughter has known for many years that Bill and I are kinksters. She actually thinks it's humorous that her not so young parents are part of that world. Even so, none of us would be comfortable with the idea she might overhear the flogger smacking my flesh, or my contented sighs and occasional screams. Nope, not a good thing.

But then there was a moment of hope. Monday afternoon Bill and I realized that Daughter was in the living room, completely engaged for some period of time in yet another DVD on World War II. We planted the idea that we hadn't slept well and needed to rest for a bit.  Heading for the bedroom, we gathered up the cats sleeping on and under our bed and convinced another to come out from under the dresser. We put them all out in the hallway and quickly closed the door.  We kissed and hugged one another, and managed to get undressed. We began rubbing together and getting our grove going, but every doggone time we started down the road toward ecstasy land,  yowling started up - and it wasn't me!

The cats don't seem to mind us sleeping or resting, it's when we begin to have sex that they howl and yowl like minions from hell! I'm not sure, but I suspect they harbor some animosity and resentment over the fact we had them all spayed and neutered. Since Daughter doesn't drive, Bill and I are the ones who transport them to and from the vet's office for their check-ups and shots, and I think that may be a contributing factor, too.

So how long  is the rebuilding and restoration going to take? How soon can the cats and Daughter head back to their apartment? Yesterday the contractor said it would be at least four weeks! I cried, I begged, I offered to make a batch of brownies for his crew every day, but he refused to be moved. I rolled right up to him, so close that he took a step back. I looked up into his face with my most pleading, yet intimidating, look. He swallowed loudly and said, "Ma'am, please try to understand, there's nothing I can do. These things take time." And then he dashed out the door.

I'm trying to be patient, I really am, but it's just not my forte.

Reporting from Cat Land,
Your Sexually Deprived Senior Correspondent,
Donna

Donna -- maybe you can borrow our Yurt in Wherethehelliisitstan for a few weeks until this long hideous nightmare is over!

Mick