My wife and I have cats. She wanted a baby, but that wasn't happening, so the cats kept piling up. Now we have a baby on the way and lots of cats. It's a pretty fucked up situation.
Anyway, we have a cat that eats a lot and vomits a lot. At one point the cat was up to 23 sweet pounds, but has since been put on a diet and is cruising at a tasty 16 today. But she still likes to eat.
Fat Cat is on a three times a day feeding schedule. The problem with said schedule is that if we miss feeding time, Fat Cat wolfs the food down like she is dying. Then she throws it up because she ate too fast. It's quite precious to observe.
Tonight we went to see Synecdoche, New York by Charlie Kaufman. It sucked ass. That's beside the point. Fat Cat feeding was behind schedule, which means vomiting ensued. Now, you should know that cat vomit is elusive. It hides in the strangest of places, but I know it's somewhere because Fat Cat is screaming at me like she has not eaten. And I mean screaming, like a jackal (which I assume scream). So, I go on a search and I find it. With my sock, which was on my foot. Yummy cat vomit on my foot.
And then I fed the Fat Bastard again.
That's how awesome my life is.
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