I don’t know what it is, old age or perhaps something else, but…
my kitty has recently started to beg for leftovers. After 14 years, she’s become a pest at begging, pacing the coffee table or pacing for us to give her something. Of course, we don’t. Well, maybe a piece of meat now and then or she gets to lick our ice cream bowls. She’s been doing that for years, but that’s pretty much it. Honest. It’s that damn dog, I’m sure of it! She’s picking up his bad manners. The difference is, he can’t jump on the counter to get into what she can.
Earlier this morning, she had yowled something fierce to go outside. It wasn’t until sometime after she’d yowled to come back in, that she launched the erring meal.
I was heading to my office and there it was. That’s how I happened upon a copious amount of kitty barf. It wasn’t just her normal barf, hairballs and such. Nope, for low and behold when I went to clean it up, it had rutabaga in it. Rutabaga!? Yup! Rutabaga.
Hmmmm, so that’s why she wanted out. She went for her herbal cure, some greenery from outdoors to help her expel the in-digestive culprit. How she managed the feat without me hearing or knowing what she was up to, ie her usual heaving, I have no clue, but she did.
Unfortunately, it was in the middle of the hallway, where I couldn’t ignore it. There was no getting back to it for a later pick up. I suppose I could have jumped over it, but no, it was in my path no matter what I did. If I went to the kitchen, it would be there. If I went to the office or the bathroom, there it would be telling me, “I’m waiting”. Do I dare leave it for my hubby for when gets home and let him do the clean up? Nah, I wish. There would be no way to pretend it wasn’t there. Now, if I were a guy I would probably have photographed it to prove to you the massive, enormous proportion she expelled, but alas I am not and I didn’t. Obviously I thought of it though. Hehe.
Back in time:
It brought back to my mind, the time I was a flight attendant and this one passenger was not handling the flight well. As I walked past her, she held the bag to her face like a lover, heaving into it profusely. From where I stood, it looked more than half full. I offered to take it as I extended her another, but she vehemently shook her head no. This poor young thing, green as she was would not relinquish the bag but kept heaving more into it.
Finally, I entreated her to please let me give her a new bag. I assured her we had plenty. She motioned for me to draw near her. I leaned in as far as I could, as she was sitting in the window seat .. She then whispers to me, “I dropped my dentures in the bag”! Dentures? She couldn’t have been more than 20! OMG!! Well, being the professional I was, I handed her the new bag and insisted I would take care of the other.
Yep! I did it. By now, the bag was so full I had to gingerly carry it into the “biffy” and close the door behind me.
Inside, I took a deep breath and started pouring her “remains” into the sink. (It couldn’t be the toilet or whoosh out it would go into Neverland.) Nope, not outside the plane, but instead the sink where I would have a measure of control of it’s contents. Why didn’t she tell me sooner? Well, as you can imagine my gag reflexes kicked in. I was gagging and dry heaving the whole time. After what felt like an interminably long time, I finally found the wayward ivories. I then proceed to disinfect them and everything else, before wrapping them up in a towel. Before exiting, I pull myself together and re enter the cabin as composed as possible. With a victorious smile, I graciously and discreetly hand her her teeth. Still distraught, slightly green and ever so grateful, the embarrassed young lady thanks me.
So here I am arming myself to mount my attack. It’s a dark mustard yellow so it was a good idea I didn’t leave it for the hub. By then it would have become permanently infused into our pale carpet. It would have left a stain. Nope, gotta have the chlorine wipes. Hopefully, that ought to get it. Next, are the carpet cleaner and loads of paper towels. Ah! and a baggy to throw it all in when I’m done.
Good Grief Chloe!
I start out first rounding up the excess. That’s when I discovered the rutabaga. We had rutabaga’s in a stew, two nights ago. Two nights ago? Ahhhh, but leftovers yesterday. Hubby didn’t care for it. He’s not much into “exotic” veggies. Normally, I wouldn’t put rutabagas in stew, but I’ve been trying to avoid potatoes, so I gave it a try. It was just okay. He still prefers potatoes. Oh well.
Apparently she jumped the counter and got into my leftovers. Note to self: “watch that cat!”
Fortunately, kitty barf doesn’t have the same smell or effect on humans that people barf does. That done, I douse the area and re-douse it until you’d never know anything had ever transpired in that spot.
As my step mother would say, “Thank you Jesus!” then she’d proceed to cross herself.
I will really like it when we can afford to lay tile everywhere.