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Ever have problems? Stress at work? Foreclosure on your home or business? Love someone who doesn't love you? Owe money right and left? Find more grey hairs?

I have a cure!

Put seven catboxes full of clumping litter, used, in your basement, put a hose through the window, turn it on full blast and let the water rise to a level of about eight inches. Voila! Your troubles are forgotten!

Our basement storeroom, where we isolate our cats' litter boxes, flooded last weekend after a thunderstorm. I was totally unprepared for the effect that a basement full of water would have, since it was unexpected. The problem was not a leaky foundation, but a gap in the floorboards of our front porch that allowed water to come cascading into the litterbox room via the basement ceiling.

I went downstairs, unaware, to scoop the boxes. I opened the door to the box room, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? You'll never guess what went floating by (music from "Jaws" here). It was, definitively, the worst mess I have ever seen in a private home in my entire life. (Our sixth grade class visited Xenia, OH after the tornado, but that doesn't count. Quite.)

"Oh, NO!" I yelled (well, that's not exactly what I said, but those who know me get the idea and the rest of you don't need to know). "Ai yi yi!" (well, that I _did_ yell, because when I lived in Houston I used to work with a lot of Mexican folks, and that's not all THEY taught me to say either, but anyway. I'm a profanity polyglot, but again, not here, not now.)

I got a rake (ever hear about muckraking? well, let me tell you, muck I raked, from here to eternity). I got a snowshovel. I got my waders, a garbage bag to cover my clothing, and rubber gloves. I got a dustpan, a bottle of bleach, a bag of sand and a box of Spic and Span. I wasn't sure what on Earth I was going to do, but by God, I was ready to do it.

After I had been merrily at work for about a half hour, humming a happy tune (oh, come on now -- you KNOW I'm kidding), my husband came home from work. Standing in the doorway of the flooded box room, witnessing this scene of filth and desperation, he said: "Hi. What are you doing?"

Again, I will spare you what I really said. Suffice it to say he got the general tone of the message: "Thank you for asking. I'm a little busy right now, and we have a wee taddy bit of a mess on our hands. Would you be so kind as to lend a hand? If not, would you please go upstairs so I can finish this? Thank you so much."

One thing I will say for my husband, however. Although he may not apply his considerable intelligence as quickly as a hothead like me would like, those wheels grind exceeding fine, and he is a godsend when there is a Really Bad Situation. Not a complainer by nature, he rolls up his sleeves and pitches in, which is what he did then and there. God love him.

So there we were, ankle deep in wet clumping litter (clumping litter + water = concrete), ordure of the first division, and some very nervous cats hanging about.

Enter The Teenagers. My son and six of his closest friends came clomping in the back door.

"Whaddya .....OH, my GOD." Each teen voiced a similar pronouncement.

And filed out the front door as silently as melting snow.

Well, that produced another string of enthusiastic pronouncements from Yours Truly, something along the lines of: "Gee, honey, you'd think the kids would have helped, wouldn't you? Those little rascals!"

To make an excruciatingly long and painful story short, we got the cat dirt, litter and all other mysterious substances cleaned up. It took three hours, the entire gallon of bleach, every ounce of strength, energy and patience we had, and ruined the good broom (which prompted my good husband to say: "Don't worry, Sweetheart -- a spray of WD40'll dry her out and she should start right up for you." I love a comedian.). We were tired, cranky and utterly without appetite, although we had not eaten all day. We fell asleep in front of the TV at about 10:00 p.m. that night. We sealed the porch next day to prevent a repeat, and God willing, it shall not be repeated.

But if you ever want to forget your troubles, I guarantee that this will work. You wouldn't think cat dirt would present an opportunity for personal growth, but at least my husband and I can say we have truly been through some, er, stuff together and survived.

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