It was bound to happen.
After yesterday's display of passive/aggressive angst, I half-knew I was going to come home to some form of the cat getting back at me for the worm and flea treatment. I mean, the horror!
A number of friends related similar tales of their beloved kitties and the evil flea treatment. Apparently, it's a universal theme.
Wednesday is my designated office day. I thought the cat and my relationship had healed after the problems of the day before. I said goodbye to him, asking that he look after the place, as I always do.
This afternoon somewhat later than I wanted, I came home to carnage.
How an average kind of black cat can produce so much vomit is beyond me.
Along with a bit of a runny bum, his lordship had vomited all over the flat.
Joy.
There was vomit on the scratching pole. Vomit on the mat which I had only washed a few weeks before I went to Darwin last. There was a heap of vomit near the couch. And worst of all, he'd spewed on the bed. Twice.
But you can't be mad with him.
I cleaned up the worst of it. Throwing the floor mat in the wash and stripping the bed, I was late for my designated Wednesday torture session with Chuck.
Thankfully the puking seems to have stopped as has the trots. Although he appears fine, he's a bit clingy. Rather than sit where he upchucked on the bed, he's sitting by the window on the other side of the bed. (I've cleaned off the duvet too - it's all been dealt with).
Strangest of all, tonight he asked to come up for a cuddle. He nestled into the crook of my arm as I lay on the couch. Normally, he will stay for a few minutes. This time, he started purring and stayed for half an hour.
He's back demanding treats and ignoring me now.
Cats. What can you do with them?
No comments:
Post a Comment