It didn't look that nasty going down...

Grendel must have read my blog post yesterday, because this morning she tried to cheer me out of my editing blues by being sick on my jeans. Luckily I wasn't wearing them at the time (I was naked, now you come to mention it -- try not to dwell on that though, I don't want to put you off whatever it is you're doing with your non-mouse hand). Yellow, frothy cat puke, what a joy. At least there weren't any chunky bits in it. Chunky bits are always much less pleasant when they're warm.

And now she's out playing Bite Disembowel and Torture with the local mice population. I don't understand how cat's do it: one minute they're barfing their guts up all over the soft furnishings and the next they're gambolling over the back wall, looking for rodents to mutilate. When I'm sick it takes at least a week to recover. But then I'm delicate.

I wonder if it's not some sort of game for her: "Bloooooooargh... cool! Look what I did! ... wonder if I can do that again... BLOOOOOOArgh! Yay! On the rug this time! BLOOOOOOARGH! All over his slippers... Wonder if I can hide a good chunk of chunder under the bed, where they won't find it for ages, so it can go all green and hairy... BLOOOOOARGH! This is great! Blll... Blll... Damn, all empty. Better go eat some more cat food." Munch, munch, munch. "BLOOOOOOARGH! Woo hoo!"

She's such a trooper.

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