One Hundred and Eighty Degrees of Cat Puke

Brought to you by request so don’t go blaming me for the content. Actually, come to think of it, you can blame Iams for the content if you want.

Hey lookie that, someone actually requested I write a story! OK, you’ve got me, yes it was TheMan but still, that counts right? I mean, he’s one of the three people who read this thing, so really 33% of my readers want to hear a story about cat puke! Ew.

For anyone who has cats there are two truths to the little fuzz balls yarking up lunch. The first is a Murphy like axiom that goes something like, no matter the distance or inconvenience, a cat will puke on the least cleanable surface it can find. This would include, for my weirdoes at least, the only area rug in a house covered in hard wood flooring, my bed spread (which involved traveling across a room and up onto the bed), my pants when they have been the only thing on the floor in three square miles and my shoes. You know, unless there is an unwritten rule about puke needing a comfy landing spot, I don’t understand this habit. I have witnessed the “I” completely off the rug save his head. Do you know how hard it is to get cat puke stains out of a cream colored rug? Does he know?

The second truth is that all cats have this weird accordion convulsive thing going on before the kibbles come back up. It’s usually accompanied by a sharp “WHORK” sound and there are usually a couple trial runs before the stomach is truly ready to evict any demon kibbles it has tried to ingest. This means in the dead of the night, a cat owner has about three whorks to wake up, find the cat, grab the cat as it scuttles off somewhere even more inconvenient and try to direct the deluge to a spot that is a little easier to clean up. “Whork” is about one of the only sounds that can get me up and mobile in less than a second.

So one day, like every other day, I fed the kitties before getting dressed and Isaak, like every other day, stuffs his belly full of kibbles before poor Vande-cat gets a chance to smell what’s in the bowl. I put my socks and undies on and Isaak parades around with his stuffed tummy all proud and Alpha cat like for being the first at the bowl and to have eaten most of the food. I put my shirt on about the same time all the little dried kibbles crammed into one Siamese’s stomach start to swell with digestive juices. Then, just as I have one leg in my pants, said Siamese starts feeling a little woogie and jumps up on the bed behind me. With one leg in and one leg out I hear from the general region of my new satin comforter the first of the warning Whorks.

In retrospect, I should have just stepped back, grabbed the cat and placed him on the floor but that involved some tangled pants on pants off dancing coordination of my feet and I was pretty certain there was a better than good chance I’d end up flat on my face killed by my pants. So I devised this pirouette spin, scoop and place plan that seemed the perfect set up. My feet wouldn’t get tangled, cat would be off the bed and wala, everything would be golden. So I started in on the plan by the second whork and had the cat scooped and in my possession by the third whork.

Ever have time come to an almost stand still as events play out in slow motion? The moment I made contact with the cat, events started happening at half speed and oddly enough cinemagraphically orchestrated. Imagine if you will, the classic slo-mo “Nnnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooo!” uttered with a back drop of furiously sawing violins. The tension builds as the cat is scooped up in the midst of its third whork and suddenly the strings pause in a moment of pregnant silence. Finally, to the strains of Strauss the cat continues its semi-circular orbit and the entire contents of one bloated kitty stomach come spilling gracefully out.

By the time I had completed my spin, “I” had hurled the last of his lunch over half of my room and sat on the floor blinking at me quizzically. I was finding cat puke for days behind the wardrobe, in the comforter, on the window sill, in the garbage can, over the register, behind the curtain… Half of my room was emblazoned with mushy Iams half digested kibble.

Lesson learned, go for the death tempting half pants on tango. Dead people don’t have to clean up an entire half room of kitty puke.

Life continued on with the occasional cat puke here or there from over stuffed Isaak stomach but not so much to have me too worried about him. What was getting me worried was hearing him whork-whorking in the night and getting up to find nothing. The case of the disappearing puke! Although, I will say I did not think long or hard about where the puke had gotten off to, other than to look everywhere to make sure it wasn’t hiding someplace clever. Puke that did not exist anymore was puke I did not have to clean up and I was happy with that and no, I wasn’t going to think about where it had gone.

Unfortunately, that came to an end one day after the post dinner yarking. Isaak burped up his usual three gallons of soggy kibble and padded off for parts elsewhere leaving me to go looking for paper towel to scoop up the mess. The towel was doing a hiding number so after a ten minute poke about the house I came back to witness the little kitty hunkered over the still warm pile happily munching away. Mmmm! Mushy warm kibble puke, my fave!

It has its plusses though, believe it or not. As disgusting as recycling is, the little kitty does quite the bang up job of cleaning up after “I”. Ew. So last week, when I was awakened at three a.m. I thought to myself, “I am too tired to find the cat and clean up after him. I’ll get it in the morning.” And lay there counting cat pukes so I would know how many piles to look for. Secretly, I hoped Vande-cat would get her a case of midnight munchies (or 3:15 munchies?) but if she didn’t, then I’d attend to it later. I was one tired puppy. Three whorks and I was out like a light.

At about 3:30 a.m. TheMan’s bladder gets him up and out of bed for the wee morning bathroom trip. Hee, wee! I slay me. Anyway, he gets up and after a moment I hear an unearthly holler of shock and dismay that went something like “Yarrrrrgh! What the-cat puke! Gross, it’s squished between my toes!” Oh yeah, Isaak got sick. So I relay the information and TheMan hobbles up the step with squishy kibble foot. I hear lots of grumbling as he washes off his foot, then the trumping of him coming back down the stairs. Next, another yell of horror and disgust. Oh yeah, Isaak was sick three times.

I laughed. TheMan didn’t. We got up then and there and went yark hunting at 3:30 in the morning and did not get to bed until all the piles were accounted for and cleaned up. Ah well.

2 Responses to “One Hundred and Eighty Degrees of Cat Puke”

  1. Alessar Says:

    Oh my gawd. That was so funny I almost busted my gut reading it. I, too, have known the dread and fear of … Midnight Horking. : )

  2. Jacqueline Says:

    J that is the most funniest article I have read about whorking. LOL I read this to my daughter and we both laughed so much that we had tears in our eyes. What a sense of humor you have…so true to what you wrote. I am saving this on my computer…to share with anyone who has a cat that whorks, lol. Thanks!