Why do apartments always put in cream carpet? I have lived in MANY apartments over the years, and the ones with carpet were all cream or nude or egg shell or off white or ecru or some other shade that is terrible at hiding stains and dirt.
Those of you without a pet might find this a little bothersome when, once in a blue moon, you spill red wine or drop a bowl of salsa. Now imagine waking up EVERY day and wondering what wonderfully regurgitated gift is on your carpet this time. That is what it is like living with a cat whose nickname is Pukester.
She got this nickname many moons ago when she started puking after her meals. Now, these were not your typical hairball cough ups, which are disgusting in their own right. These were like looking at a slightly wet pile of the very expensive food you just scooped into her bowl. She, of course, was not bulimic (but don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind). She was just eating too fast.
Back then it was just the two of us, so I was not sure why she felt the need to eat so quickly. Her food was available all day long (and even all night long since she took to waking me up in the middle of the night if there was not food in her dish), there was no one else who might eat it and she never went without a meal. So, of course, I took her to the vet. Lots of costly tests and bills later, there was obviously nothing wrong with her. She was just eating too fast. So I tried feeding her in increments. I stood over her while she ate and took the bowl away if she didn't stop to breathe between bites. I put tiny little amounts of food in the bowl at various times during the day. Nothing helped. Some times she would puke, some times she wouldn't. There was no rhyme or reason. Since she seemed as health as ever in every other respect, I just bought a bunch of carpet cleaner and sucked it up.
There was the time I woke up in the middle of the night to that throaty, heaving sound that can only mean one thing...she is going to puke, only to find out that yes, she was going to puke, but she was still sitting on my pillow on the bed.
There was the time she puked all over the floor (because she never pukes once and she never stands still while she does it) in the guest bedroom where my grandfather and his wife were sleeping. Of course, I did not find the puke. My grandfather's wife did, or should I say her foot did, at 2 in the morning when she got up to go to the bathroom.
There was the time she puked in the center of the comforter after eating the leftovers from of a nice can of tuna. It was so gross; we just balled up the comforter and threw it out.
The Pukester has lived up to her name over the years. It became such a regular thing, that when we go out of town we warn our cat sitters (yes, we get a cat sitter) that she WILL (not might) puke and tell them to just leave it. We will take care of it when we get home.
Surprisingly the addition of the dog has dramatically reduced the amount of regurgitating the Pukester has been doing. My guess is that the cat now eats only one or two pieces of food at a time because it requires her to have her back to the dog while doing so. And who knows what might happen if she lets her guard down too long.
Of course, this has not saved our carpet. The dog decided to step up to the plate recently and take over for the cat. Dogs eat a lot of crap. And most of it comes out one end or the other. Until recently we had been pretty lucky. The dog seemed to mostly only be interested in eating things that could be digested. But that all ended the other week with what we are now calling Reversal of Fortune Friday (anyone who has ever watched the 4th of July Nathan's Hotdog Eating Contest knows EXACTLY what I am talking about).
She is fascinated with winter clothing - gloves, socks, hats, scarves, jackets, anything that is put on before walking out the door when it is below 50 degrees. Typically she just takes the item and runs around with it, then drops it some place it wasn't supposed to be. But a few Fridays ago, she got a hold of a thick gardening glove while we were out at the dog park. She ran back into the bushes, growled when any living being came near, and devoured the ENTIRE glove, finger tips to reinforced wrist. We all watched her emerge from the bushes in awe. She seemed fine, so we figured it would eventually just come out the other end.
We were wrong. The weekend came and went and she seemed ok. The week started and she was a little less energetic than usual, but the weather was gloomy, so we figured she was just bummed from all the rain. Then she started puking sticks, on the bed, and we had to wash the blanket we keep on the bed (just for this exact reason) three times. Then Friday came around and we saw what can only be described as the most repulsive thing ever.
I was sitting in the living room on a conference call when the throaty heaving started. I looked at my husband and pointed at the rag box. Then, like Linda Blair's pea soup head spin, out came a never ending blob. At first, we just stared in abject horror. Then, recognition kicked in and we realized the strange object we were looking at was the glove, or most of it, covered in bile and slobber. Luckily, I was on a call, so my husband had to pick up this object from the other side. I got to rub the dog's belly and tell her it was ok.
As soon as my husband finished cleaning up the pile of slimy glop from the carpet, the dog stood up, walked back to the exact same spot and, with the saddest puppy eyes ever, looked at me and produced the rest of the glove...in the same fashion. I can only tell you for certain it was the glove because there is no way she could have eaten anything else this large and us NOT have seen it.
Again, I tried not to add my own vomit to the pile and my husband cleaned up the mess. We both looked at the pathetic fur ball, waiting for the third shoe to drop. But about three minutes later, she got up, got some water and ate her breakfast as if nothing had happened. It was instantaneously obvious that she was feeling better. She started running around, wanted to play and ate, a lot.
We now have a No Glove = Love policy in the house. But given all the Christmas tree needles and random scraps of foreign objects floating around the house right now, I am sure it is only a matter of time before we need to call the Exorcist for a house call.
Those of you without a pet might find this a little bothersome when, once in a blue moon, you spill red wine or drop a bowl of salsa. Now imagine waking up EVERY day and wondering what wonderfully regurgitated gift is on your carpet this time. That is what it is like living with a cat whose nickname is Pukester.
She got this nickname many moons ago when she started puking after her meals. Now, these were not your typical hairball cough ups, which are disgusting in their own right. These were like looking at a slightly wet pile of the very expensive food you just scooped into her bowl. She, of course, was not bulimic (but don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind). She was just eating too fast.
Back then it was just the two of us, so I was not sure why she felt the need to eat so quickly. Her food was available all day long (and even all night long since she took to waking me up in the middle of the night if there was not food in her dish), there was no one else who might eat it and she never went without a meal. So, of course, I took her to the vet. Lots of costly tests and bills later, there was obviously nothing wrong with her. She was just eating too fast. So I tried feeding her in increments. I stood over her while she ate and took the bowl away if she didn't stop to breathe between bites. I put tiny little amounts of food in the bowl at various times during the day. Nothing helped. Some times she would puke, some times she wouldn't. There was no rhyme or reason. Since she seemed as health as ever in every other respect, I just bought a bunch of carpet cleaner and sucked it up.
There was the time I woke up in the middle of the night to that throaty, heaving sound that can only mean one thing...she is going to puke, only to find out that yes, she was going to puke, but she was still sitting on my pillow on the bed.
There was the time she puked all over the floor (because she never pukes once and she never stands still while she does it) in the guest bedroom where my grandfather and his wife were sleeping. Of course, I did not find the puke. My grandfather's wife did, or should I say her foot did, at 2 in the morning when she got up to go to the bathroom.
There was the time she puked in the center of the comforter after eating the leftovers from of a nice can of tuna. It was so gross; we just balled up the comforter and threw it out.
The Pukester has lived up to her name over the years. It became such a regular thing, that when we go out of town we warn our cat sitters (yes, we get a cat sitter) that she WILL (not might) puke and tell them to just leave it. We will take care of it when we get home.
Surprisingly the addition of the dog has dramatically reduced the amount of regurgitating the Pukester has been doing. My guess is that the cat now eats only one or two pieces of food at a time because it requires her to have her back to the dog while doing so. And who knows what might happen if she lets her guard down too long.
Of course, this has not saved our carpet. The dog decided to step up to the plate recently and take over for the cat. Dogs eat a lot of crap. And most of it comes out one end or the other. Until recently we had been pretty lucky. The dog seemed to mostly only be interested in eating things that could be digested. But that all ended the other week with what we are now calling Reversal of Fortune Friday (anyone who has ever watched the 4th of July Nathan's Hotdog Eating Contest knows EXACTLY what I am talking about).
She is fascinated with winter clothing - gloves, socks, hats, scarves, jackets, anything that is put on before walking out the door when it is below 50 degrees. Typically she just takes the item and runs around with it, then drops it some place it wasn't supposed to be. But a few Fridays ago, she got a hold of a thick gardening glove while we were out at the dog park. She ran back into the bushes, growled when any living being came near, and devoured the ENTIRE glove, finger tips to reinforced wrist. We all watched her emerge from the bushes in awe. She seemed fine, so we figured it would eventually just come out the other end.
We were wrong. The weekend came and went and she seemed ok. The week started and she was a little less energetic than usual, but the weather was gloomy, so we figured she was just bummed from all the rain. Then she started puking sticks, on the bed, and we had to wash the blanket we keep on the bed (just for this exact reason) three times. Then Friday came around and we saw what can only be described as the most repulsive thing ever.
I was sitting in the living room on a conference call when the throaty heaving started. I looked at my husband and pointed at the rag box. Then, like Linda Blair's pea soup head spin, out came a never ending blob. At first, we just stared in abject horror. Then, recognition kicked in and we realized the strange object we were looking at was the glove, or most of it, covered in bile and slobber. Luckily, I was on a call, so my husband had to pick up this object from the other side. I got to rub the dog's belly and tell her it was ok.
As soon as my husband finished cleaning up the pile of slimy glop from the carpet, the dog stood up, walked back to the exact same spot and, with the saddest puppy eyes ever, looked at me and produced the rest of the glove...in the same fashion. I can only tell you for certain it was the glove because there is no way she could have eaten anything else this large and us NOT have seen it.
Again, I tried not to add my own vomit to the pile and my husband cleaned up the mess. We both looked at the pathetic fur ball, waiting for the third shoe to drop. But about three minutes later, she got up, got some water and ate her breakfast as if nothing had happened. It was instantaneously obvious that she was feeling better. She started running around, wanted to play and ate, a lot.
We now have a No Glove = Love policy in the house. But given all the Christmas tree needles and random scraps of foreign objects floating around the house right now, I am sure it is only a matter of time before we need to call the Exorcist for a house call.
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