Just Minding My Own Buisness

It was the end of a long week, the first morning I'd gotten to sleep in, and I was luxuriating in the morning's slowness. I'd had coffee, breakfast, and gotten to read a little. I was sitting there, minding my own buisness, when a panicked meow sounded, and the room's finicky door, the door I'd purposely shut, was bullied open.

There was the grey cat, running at top speed for no apparent reason. He jumped onto the counter with the sink and, with a hacking gag, started to vomit, perfectly positioned to do so into the porcelain bowl.

In that second, I was pleased, vomit was easy to clean when in a sink, then in a stunning reversal for fortunes, he changed course, whipping his head away from the sink, and leaping from the counter. He vomited midair.

He and the vomit fell, the vomit splatting onto the floor just before he landed in it. He then took off, screeching from the room, leaving vomity paw prints in his wake.

Then I was alone again, seconds after the grey cat had appeared and then disappeared, in a room that now smelled like partially digested chicken formula in gravy. The calico cat's head came into view at the edge of the now open door. She cut a hard glance at the vomit, then at me before making her judgement clear and running off.

It was one of those mornings where two cups of coffee would be required. Right after I mopped my way to the sink.

Petting a cat reduces your stress. Can the same be said for cleaning up cat vomit? Is it less stressful if the vomit is presented with shock and awe aplomb? Honestly, I think yes. It's hard to be stressed if you're just so damned surprised.

Here's to slow mornings.