My Little Helper
I start every work week with a spic and span house. Despite many resolutions, the place is a wreck by Friday. Each weekend I spend a solid three hours cleaning the house. It only takes one and a half hours if Mike helps me. If Mr. Tibbs helps me, it might take four.
Mr. Tibbs is my housecleaning helper. While I’m choking on cleaning fumes in the bathroom, he waltzes in and lies down in the newly scrubbed tub to supervise. When I open the hamper to pull out dirty laundry, he jumps in and then fights me for each piece. He loves it when I clean the floors.
Although you can’t tell on Fridays, I’m a little nutzo about the cleanliness of the floors. I have an arsenal of tools: broom, swiffer, mop, and vacuum. Tibbs loves them all. Cats are supposed to be afraid of vacuums, but not Mr. Tibbs! He cuddles the vaccuum when it’s off. When it’s on, he pays it no mind. I’ve actually vacuumed him with the brush attachment. He thought it was great fun. If he’s sprawled on the area I intend to vacuum, I have to reach down and pick him up to clean the floor beneath him. Nudging him with the roaring vacuum head is ineffective.
He also considers the broom, swiffer, and mop toys and attacks them as I attempt to clean the floor. The swiffer is his very favorite. He jumps on for a ride, biting and clawing the cloth covering. I just continue pushing both the cat and tool across the floor, hoping that the swiffer is picking up the cat hair Tibbs is leaving behind.
I may sound annoyed, but, mostly, I’m amused. While Mr. Tibbs’ cleaning help is of questionable value, his antics distract me from the Sisyphean task at hand. I need a maid so I can play in the garden with the kitties while my house is magically cleaned.