Last night, ten minutes after we put him to sleep, Kiddo#1 came out to us. “Stormy threw up in my bed.”
Trudge into the bedroom; examine the damage; rejoice that the cat didn’t actually hork up anything in the bed, only over the side (it’s a loft bed, too–was she having dreams of sea sickness?) and collect the stuff she managed to hit way down below. She got his school bag and his lunch sack.
We encouraged Kiddo#1 to look on the bright side: this was a great way to end a year, rather than to begin a new one. (Although I pointed out that if he had begun a new year that way, it was pretty much a guarantee that the year wouldn’t get any worse.)
To ring in the New Year, this morning we did laundry. And all is well. Or at least, free of cat-barf.
Hmm. Does that mean that it’s a good sign that we got a leak under the sink today?
It’s definitely a good sign for your plumber!
Given the track record of my crew, I’m glad I didn’t celebrate January 1st of the new year by stepping in cat hork.
Instead, the whole crew spent its time parked in my lap, Misha most notably. She’s been in my lap all morning until I looked down and informed her that she smelled like litter box and needed her medicine. She is now trying to lead me to the room where she gets her medicine–honestly, what cat looks forward to having a pill shoved down her throat twice a day?
Oh dear, the school bag. Those things go through a lot, don’t they?