In the middle of the night last night I was awakened two seconds too late to shove a puking cat off of the bed, where he upchucked a hairball onto the comforter directly on top of me.
I'm sure it mustn't be any fun for a cat to be surprised by a hairball in the middle of the night, but come on - right on top of me while I'm in the damn bed? You're a CAT. You're known for your quick reflexes, remember?
Getting up at 1:30 in the morning to clean cat puke off the bed is such a pleasure. For a moment I considered just moving to the other side of the bed to go right back to sleep.
Then after his breakfast, he blew a few more chunks, with me telling him "It's OK, get it out," while trying to keep him from spewing it onto the carpet.
Then the bird wants his breakfast and doesn't want to be left out of the fun, so he starts mouthing off for attention, then the other boy cat leaves a monster crap in the box and neglects to cover it, his way of sharing with us what he can make all by himself.
For a moment, it felt very much like taking care of my brother's kids when he was in school on weekends. There was always someone hungry, someone crapping, someone wanting something, every second of every minute of the day. It made me nuts.
If the late-night cat barf alarm keeps up, I'm going to leave piles of food all over the house and join David across the pond.