special type of awful.
Apparently one of our guests, presumably a four-legged one, had used one of the first floor HVAC ducts as a more convenient litter box, and when we turned up the heat during the recent cold snap, the aroma of freshly baked cat urine filled the downstairs with yummy awesomeness. It wasn’t clear which of the ducts harbored the foul soup, so I pried the register off each one, vacuumed out the kibble, hair-ties and paper clips our furry guests had batted about until gravity spoiled the fun, cleaned the duct with Clorox, took a hearty whiff, and if it didn’t make me gag, moved to the next.
PetSmart) over each register to allow fine napping yet thwart restroom use.
We still don’t know the perpetrator, but the cradles seem to be working, and for now, we can heat the place without smelling like we’re making pee soup.
Mr. Han, Kirk, Dirty Harry, Serena, Siena, McFlurry, Uncle Creepy, Gigi, Bran and the Whisker City Scratcher and Cradles.