Smell ya later, things I threw away today

I am very close to winning my battle against shag carpeting. The only carpet left in the entire house after today is a thin strip between the dining room and the office (accidental) and a little lip to protect the threshold on the landing outside the upstairs bathroom (purposeful). There are a few spots where I left the carpet pad down as we continue demo in other areas, but that is easily removed and not nearly as filthy as the carpet itself.

I would like to state for the record that while ripping out carpet sounds like an easy job, it actually isn't. This carpet has soaked up decades of spills, urine and lord knows what other fluids, in addition to the baking soda/carpet fresheners that were used over the past 40 years. It is also wool, which makes me break out in hives. It is also every bit as crazy stapled and nailed as the pine paneling was in the basement. In short, it is a beast.

Why use a handful of staples and nails when you can use an entire box?

Much as I disliked the party carpet, the orange shag ('amber red' was written in marker on the back of one piece) has earned a special place in my hall of shame. Not only is it stupid heavy, it is also so matted that I end up cutting it twice - once to cut the backing, and once to cut the glued mat of shag in the middle. It is a paste held together with that most pungent of liquids - cat urine. 

It is well known that cats and I have decided to live our lives separately, for the benefit of both parties. One of the most important factors in that decision is the reek of their urine, the worst smell that I have ever encountered - and I have spent the last few years in hospitals. If I had a time machine, I would use it for one purpose. I would go back in time, and I would strangle the cat that marked this house. I don't know how long ago that was, but I do know that the ghost of his urine lives on: in the carpet, in the blackened, reeking tack strips, and in the discolored trim. The landing of the stairs was a place of special honor, where this ancient cat entwined his excrement with the fate of this house for generations to come. I was nearly overwhelmed as I wrestled with the infuriatingly secure carpet, but I couldn't decide whether I was going to throw up or pass out so I just checked Facebook on the porch until I could breathe through my nose again.  

All cats are hereby banned from this house. FOREVER. Again. 

After I triumphed over the cat urine, I was exposed to some other exciting aromas when the recycling company showed up to take away the nasty old refrigerator. We had to unscrew the hardware on the front doors to get it out, after we removed the doors from the fridge altogether. Apparently they are going to send me a check for $30 for the privilege of scrapping that monstrosity. 

Hork. 

Once the fridge was gone and I swept up it wasn't so bad. In fact, the kitchen is so much more open and full of light that I might not replace it. (Ha! Decorating joke.) I like to think that the house is smelling better all the time, since I keep taking out these disgusting things. But then I start to think about what's inside my washing machine, and I kind of want to hurl again. It's not that I haven't seen houses in much worse condition (because I have, undoubtedly I have) it's that since I walked through those houses, I have taken microbiology and learned sterile technique. Also, I never planned to live in those houses.

I try to tell myself that it's getting cleaner all the time. And it is. I just have to live with taking a fair amount of it home in the interim. 

Please excuse the through-window shot. 

The white box on the lower left is actually a cabinet sitting on the porch.