The pool is at it again. Mid week, it turned decidedly green . . . again. Robert, the pool boy . . . who in reality is a very nice older French gentleman . . . came by Thursday and tested the water. Chlorine, was high, Ph was great, Alkaline was low, none of which explained the terrible green miasma that was supposed to be my crystal clear pool.
So Robert took a sample and early the next morning, I called the office to get the result. Phosphates. Yep, those little chemicals in clothing detergent. Also available compliments of lawn sprays. And so with all of the recent rains, the phosphates have leeched into the pool and as luck would have it, are the singular favorite snack of algae.
Three days of meticulously cleaning the filter morning and night and a bottle of anti-phosphate and the pool is once again clear. And so this is where we move on to the pussy poo part.
One of the neighbors cats has decided that clawing his way up the pool cage is a wonderful thing and has been availing himself of the top screen as his own personal hammock. I find him up there most mornings. Other than the squirrels, he hasn't any company. Nor does he have a port-o-potty and in lieu there of, he squats and poops, leaving his presents on the screen next to his bed.
This is neither visually nor aromatically pleasing to the senses and consequently gets hosed off as soon as found. And since his aerie is clear over the pool, it makes one wonder where the little devil relieves himself of the more liquid variety. Shuddering at the thought. Just another reason, Ryan Lochte, not to drink the pool water.
And so due to the alliteration, I am no longer extending invitations to come swim in my pool. Except for Joanie since she and I have been paddling around in complete and utter ignorance since May and are still relatively healthy.
Splash!!!!
