I don't like to vomit. OK, that's putting it mildly. I *HATE* to vomit. I always act as if I'm about to die.
First I sit down. "Oof. I don't feel so good." Then, I contemplate just how 'not good' I really feel and what the odds of keeping the contents of my stomach in my stomach are. If the odds aren't in my favor, I head for the bathroom... and I sit some more. "ohgod... ohhhhhhhhhh god.... oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh..." There might even be a little begging. "Oh god, please don't make me throw up... oh god, I don't want to... oh god no..." Being that I'm an atheist, the begging is usually followed by my head in the toilet.
"Bbbb-bb-b-bbllletchhhh!!!!! Oohhhhh... b-bb-b-b-bbbblettt-chchchch!!!"
My cat Tucker has a completely different approach. He walks away from whatever he was doing (licking himself, scratching himself, napping... licking himself...), and he announces to the world that he's got a little something to purge.
"MewowwwowWwowwoww...."
Sometimes, Tuck will go into the litter box to vomit. That's great because he gets his privacy, and I don't have to wipe it up. Too cool. That's ma' boy!
Simon, on the other hand, makes a show out of it. He walks into the middle of the room and starts panting, then hacking, followed by an arched back with a head bow plus a little tongue dangling for good measure... and then he unloads. For him, the important thing is to vomit somewhere good - preferably a high traffic area or on a rug. The middle of a hallway will do, or the center of a room.
Yes indeed - we each vomit in our own way. We also vomit for different reasons.
For me, it's all about illness. I've got to really be sick before a meal makes an encore.
Tucker has long fur, and since cats bathe themselves by licking... well... sometimes the kitty-innards get gummed up, and the only way to make it right is to clear the place out. So be it.
Simon is like a kitty-Ritalin-poster-child. He gets himself so worked up into a hyper frenzy sometimes, and it's more than his tummy can handle.
Tonight was a prime example.
I had a date. A long "night-on-the-town" type date.
By the time we walked back into our own front door, Simon had worked himself into a tizzy.
"Oh. God. You're. Home. I. Thought. You. Were. Gone. For. Good. Oh. Feed. Me. Now."
I scooped food into his and Tucker's bowls, and they munched munched munched. "Ahh, the simple pleasures" I thought. "What's better to a cat than dinner?"
Simon immediately wolfed down his entire dinner, which was more than his hyper tummy could handle - so he barfed it back up. Tucker swooped in and ate it - which, for him, meant two meals for the price of one.
As it turns out, for Tucker at least, there's something better than a meal: Tuck enjoys a HOT meal.
...back.
