A Road Trip and a walk down memory lane.

I feel like I have been in the car for 48 hours. 

That is because I HAVE been in the car for 48 hours.  The Tour de Famile has finished. We arrived back at Jabba the Hut today and I look forward to not seeing the interior of Sonia Kluger for a while.

Which is a good thing.

Because it stinks of cat piss.

my leg covered in cat piss
Our cat Chuy was travelling in his special soft cat carrier, which Harry had on his lap. After a while Chuy started to go mental and tried to eat his way out of it. Harry passed it over to me, to see if my soothing tones and calming aura could help the situation.

A moment later and it was obvious what the problem was. He needed to take a leak. After I was doused in urine, Chuy settled down for a nap for the remainder of the trip.

Me? I was freaking TRAUMATISED. Hot cat piss on a freeway with nothing to change into and 3 people laughing so hard at me. ASSHOLES….

It reminded me of another time in my life, which was a similar situation but possibly worse. No, it was worse.

Now, dear reader, I will give you the option of opting out here, as the story is not pretty and I am not sure what your level of iron guts are. And if you indeed choose to opt out here, I wish you a good day.


Right you sick bastard, you have decided to read on. What is wrong with you?


I would have been about 12 at the time. My mum had a little cottage in the Blue Mountains that we used to be dragged up to. It was complete shit, nothing to do but Mum loved it. There were the parents, us 5 kids and our family dogs travelling one particular  day.

Sophie was our dearly, dearly loved German Shepherd and Basil was our dim-witted doberman. They were in the back on the 4WD with a couple of kids. Up the windy roads we went. If you know Bells Line of Road, you will know what I mean when I say windy.

We had travelled through Kurmond when the air filled with a scent that is reminiscent of rotting rectums. The windows went down and blame was thrown around with fierce  accusation. The odour did not dissipate as it normally would, if anything it was getting far more turd-esque.

It was then that a very unpleasant discovery was made.

It would seem that our Sophie has an upset stomach and was quietly shitting for England in the back of the car. When the discovery was made, all hell broke loose.


Everyone screamed, and at which this point, the dog recognised her name being called and did what happy dogs do, which is wag it’s tail like mad.

With each happy tail wag, sloppy dog plop was splattered around the car in the manner reminiscent of filthy lawn sprinkler. The more shit that was spread around, the more screaming occurred. It was a vicious and filthy cycle that simply could not be stopped.

Mum was unable to pull the car over as we were travelling with a cliff on one side and a large drop into a gully on the other. She did however, put her foot down a little. By the time she was able to pull over onto a verge, all the damage that could have been done, was done.

We were all liberally covered in flecks of dog shit. Hair, faces, clothes, the lot.

Mum was able to find a single used tissue to try and clean us up, but it was fruitless. The trip to the cottage resumed in horrified silence and for months and months after, we found evidence of the traumatising incident.

So, a bit of cat piss is nothing I suppose.