Single Dad

It was 0530. I was going to spend the day with my little girl. I got up, all excited. Going to make her some waffles. I stumbled out of bed, headed for the bathroom. I found a surprise. I had recently moved the cat litter box from the bathroom to the laundry room. I suppose in protest, the cat decided to leave me a rather gross opinion of that move in the bathtub. Being a good father, I had to clean the bathtub out. So I did so, cussing the cat the whole time, just grateful that my daughter wasn't up yet. After bleaching and cleaning the tub (my daughter bathed there, for crying out loud) I took a shower. After the shower I headed to the newly carpeted laundry room. I then found out exactly why the cat had left me such a disgusting present in the bathtub. Our dog had left me a number of presents on our newly carpeted floor. The reason our normally house broke dog did this was apparent. She had eaten everything in the kitty litter box. It evidently hadn't set well with her. I, being a responsible parent, quickly cleaned up the laundry room, applying liberal amounts of carpet cleaner and cussing the dog the entire time. It was now almost 0730, and I knew my daughter would soon wake up. I got the bacon out and began frying on the griddle. I thought it would be wonderful for her to wake up to the smell of bacon. I was just about to flip the bacon when my daughter walks in, stark naked, and crying. Evidently she had wet her bed for the first time in months and had stripped out of her wet clothes. She was mortified. As any good father would do, I ran her a bath, put her in it, washed her up, stripped her bed, put her sheets in the washing machine, and was headed back to the bathroom to get her when the fire alarm went off. My daughter started screaming in almost the exact same shrill pitch of the alarm. It took almost fifteen minutes, but I was able to calm my daughter down, kill the fire alarm, and throw the charcoal that used to be bacon away. I got my daughter out, dressed, and sitting at the breakfast table. I started a new batch of bacon. When they were done, I put them on her plate, put her waffles in the toaster (a new one, never been used), and decided to fry an egg up for myself. I was just getting ready to flip the egg when my daughter let out a very angry yell. The cat had jumped on to the table, very interested in my daughters bacon. I grabbed the cat, knocking over my daughters juice in the process, and flung the miserable thing across the room. As I turned to rescue my daughter from eminent drowning by orange juice, I heard a yowl from behind me. The cat had landed next to the burner. Cat fur, evidently, is highly flammable. After putting out the cat, throwing out the burnt egg, trashing the toaster (which burnt the waffles), and cleaning up my daughter, we went to Dennys. All this happened before 0830. This is the life of a single parent.