|Not my cat. But it looks like me, yes?|
So I give you this:
I used some sort of toxic pet-mess clean-up spray we had on hand, and it did, indeed, get the mustard-yellow stain out of the cream-colored chair. It was like magic, really—stinky, fake-floral magic—but magic nonetheless. (The rug didn't fare so well and is probably due for a professional cleaning anyway, as it's a hundred thousand years old and I'm pretty certain has never been properly cleaned. We think it's tan, but maybe it, too, is supposed to be cream-colored.)
But when I woke up this morning, I discovered that one of the decorative (upholstered) buttons on the upholstered chair had turned a crispy, autumnal brown overnight. WTF? The button was made from the same fabric as the chair—why did it have to freak out and turn brown? And was it from the cat puke (meaning add more floral magic) or from the floral magic itself? And it's not like I can start adding other chemicals to the mix, since I have no idea what's in Pet Mess Magic Floral Clean-Up Spray since the ingredients aren't listed on the bottle (isn't that, like, required by law? It should be.) and I'm too lazy/tired/nauseated/annoyed to scour the internet to find out but at the same time don't want to create an accidental chemical bomb in my living room.
Dr. Husband suggests just turning the cushion over and calling it a day—a low-key, low-impact, lazy-friendly attitude that I appreciate in theory, but in reality... what kind of respectable mom/wife/woman/person can't successfully clean up after an episode of cat vomit? And I worked so hard to get all that yuckiness out of the chair—must I now be forever tormented by a vomit-burned button permanently hidden on the underside of the cushion?
Then again, what kind of sentient husband/dad/man/person with a cat and a young family buys a cream-colored upholstered chair in the first place? Leather would be one thing, I suppose, but cotton? All the Scotch Guard in the world could not have protected this chair from yesterday's festivities. Ironically, he got it off Craigslist on the cheap because the previous owner's dog had soiled the main cushion, which we had remade by a sewing/upholstering professional who keeps shop in the basement of her suburban Seattle home alongside her husband's massage parlor in the next room—right on the other side of floor-to-not-quite-ceiling, non-at-all-sound-proof shelves of fabric. Which is irrelevant, but randomly interesting, no?
It looks like I'll be heading back to the suburbs soon to get a massage—er, new expensive homemade button—and to wherever one takes oversized antique wool rugs to be cleaned. Goddamned cat.
photo courtesy: denverdesign, morgueFile