Digestion Is The Question. . .
Last night was one of the many miniature adventures one goes through in life, but this one started with a can of tuna.
Bobcat and Black Kitty have been such good little furry beasts this week that I felt they needed a treat, and the house favorite is Star-Kist tuna in water. Don't ever feed a cat tuna in oil, their little kitty poots are like tiny atomic explosions and can clear a room in a few seconds.
Anyway, I opened the can and gave most of the juice to Bobcat with a little tuna flesh. The remaining fish and any leftover juice for Black Kitty. Yes, cats have idiosyncrasies. Bobcat prefers the juice and Black Kitty the meat. I divided the can and the happy felines munched and lapped their way through the tuna and afterward, each found a nice warm corner to preen in and all seemed well in the cat world.
That is, until I heard Black Kitty squawk.
I'm used to his constant vocalizations and the majority of them are call-like as he wanders around the house checking to make sure that all things are in order and places like the bathroom, for instance, haven't been moved away. Not sure what he's looking for, but he has a routine and sometimes I play along, calling back to him. It seems to please his edgy cat brain and after a bit of this he usually sacks out for a nap.
But this call was different. More like a yelp or a distress call. I peered around the corner and found him hunched over with feet tucked close under his body, but before I could get to him, he had already begun the convulsing movements of vomiting. From personal experience I can assure you that it's not a great idea to pick up a vomiting cat. So, I just let him go. Nothing a quick clean with bleach on the slate floor won't solve.
So, Black Kitty yakked. Twice more. And that was it. A huge pile of undigested tuna, some cat food, some indescribable and outlandish looking stuff. I examined it closely for worms, just to make sure, then scooped it up and cleaned the floor. Black Kitty seemed no worse for wear and I resumed washing clothes and packing.
About thirty minutes later, he stood by the door as if wanting to get out, another cat game he likes. In in this game, I play the stooge who operates the door handle and he pokes his head out the door just to look around until he retreats back inside as if well-satisfied to see that the charcoal grill and rocking chair are still present and accounted for on the porch. Me, standing there opening and closing the door. As many times as I open it, he'll poke his head out.
As I was closing the door the last time, I looked to my right and noticed another pile of yucko.
Just woooooonderful, I thought.
I got some paper towels, bent over to pick up the fourth pile of the evening when I noticed something glistening in the sputum and half digested cat chow. It was a nice, fat, gleaming, milk-white tape worm, oh roughly six inches in length and obviously quite irritated it had been expunged from it's living quarters in the cat's bowels.
Ugh-O-Rama!!
Add living, slimy, slithering tapeworms to the list of shit I don't like to see, which includes cockroaches, sunflowers and honeycomb patterns. Sorry for the vulgarity in a relatively vulgarity-free post, but fucking nasty!! Beyond fucking nasty!!
After my crawling skin settled down, I pulled off half the roll of paper towels and disposed of the thing in the garbage. Cleaned the floor with a triple dose of bleach and kicked my poor, tapeworm infested kitty out the damn door.
I was wigging out for half an hour. Every little skin twitch made my skin prickle and the thought of that slimy bastard oozing around in a pile of vomit was making me ill in my own right. I finally settled back down and proceeded to relax, sorta.
I heard the front door open and I figured one of the cats had pushed it open and paid no real attention when I heard some nibbling of the cat food in the kitchen. My cats eat constantly, as if they've never seen food before, this on top of the various birds and mice they massacre from time to time. Probably where Black Kitty got his parasite from.
Fifteen minutes or so later, I walked into the kitchen, to find the door open and a giant possum meandering around the kitchen. I grabbed to closest weapon I could find, which is a brand new feather pillow. I charged at the thing, waving the pillow wildly in front of me! The possum, in great defense of his own well-being, just fucking sat there, blinking absently. And seemingly, uncaring.
Well, this is not what I expected. I lunged in with my pillow and this time he went scurrying away from the door and into the living room, but again, in no real hurry. Three low-speed laps around the Lay-Z-Boy, him trundling along and me in hot pursuit with a dangerous feather pillow until he finally slipped out the door, right past Wildcat who never even blinked at him.
A lot of good you are Wildcat! You damn near kill Black Kitty every time you see, smell or hear his little ass! WTF??? Didn't you just see that giant, smelly possum???
Wildcat casually walked over to the empty bowl, turned to look back and in protest said, "Meow?"
Damn cats.
