Why are you like this?

As mentioned, my two felines are what they were made to be, furry masses of chaos which do not give two shits about what you would prefer they were doing.

One night, my husband went to bed, and the calico cat ran upstairs. Moments later, I heard the telltale sound that said she was puking. I highly doubted she was in the tile bathroom, and on cue, my husband started to yell.

Turned out, not only was she barfing on the carpet, but she was doing it under the bed, which my husband was too large to fit under. I didn’t get up off the couch and listened as he banged around, trying to pull her out from under the bed, while she continued to hack up whatever was in her gullet.

A moment later, she came bounding down the stairs. I heard my husband go into the bathroom for the cleaning supplies. She made it to the living room, looked at me like she might explode, and disappeared at a high rate of speed into the office.

A few minutes later, I realized the repetitive sound I was hearing was not from my smooth jazz playlist. I got up to investigate. My senses led me to the office where I threw on the light to find the calico trying to climb into our hanging plant. The plant that is specifically hanging to avoid cat destruction.

Upon seeing she was caught, not exactly eating the plant, but doing her dastardly best to do so, she dropped from the planter and busted out of the office. I followed her into the living room, resettled myself on the couch then heard her making a weird ass noise in the corner. I saw her face smashed into the space where the wall met the stairs, right where, last week, I found a huge, totally unnerving spider. I’d used the dust buster to clean up the spider, but I never cleaned up the web, one-hundred percent due to the fact I was so wigged out by the spider itself.

And now, from the corner, the calico was snarffing up the empty web like a kid inhaling cotton candy.

“What is wrong with you?” I snapped.

She looked at me briefly before going back to wolfing down the web even faster.

I tried to yell at her again, but I was trying to be quiet since, theoretically, my husband was sleeping. Instead, she ignored me until I finally threw off my blanket, again. I stood, and she hightailed it upstairs, ears pinned back, her little legs a blur.

I settled back onto the couch when I heard it again.

She was back upstairs, puking.

“What the hell,” my husband yelled. “She’s barfing under the bed again!”

This time I grabbed some cleaning supplies and made my way upstairs. My husband was already on the floor, cleaning up the most recent barf, while the perfect little calico cat watched from across the room.

“Why is she hellbent on ruining everything we love?” He was saying.

But she was so soft and cute looking. I picked her up and hugged her.

“Don’t hug her! She needs discipline!” he said.

But he had it under control. The carpet was mostly clean. I carried the calico cat back down the stairs and left my husband to go to sleep. For the third time.

Third time’s a charm, so they say.