And so the night begins

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The night began with high optimism.   Tom and I ate dinner at the Shaved Duck.  Our first time since the “change”.  The hot chili was hot but not so hot that I needed the shot of milk.  Then, though, I can handle hot.  We’d met there so I left while the server ran the credit card.

That’s when it all went downhill.  At home, I realized I no longer had my jacket.  One of my very favorite jackets (although, truthfully, all my jackets are my favorite ones — some people have shoes, I have jackets).  Anyway, I was concerned that I hadn’t brought it in with me (I remembered leaving it in my car at Van Goghz earlier, but couldn’t remember seeing it since).  I called Tom.  Yep, left it at the Duck.  That’s good.

And that’s where good ends.  I came home and smelled cat shit, like fresh cat shit.  This is not unusual since Fiona has stopped pooping in the litter box.  Only, I couldn’t find any shit.  I located the source in the litter box as an unburied, fresh pile on top of the litter.  I made to scoop it.  And then I heaved.  Not a dry heave, but a wet heave.  Not just a wet heave, but Bhut Jolokia pepper wet heave.  What only hurt going down nearly killed me on the way up.  Apparently, stomach acid and capscasin don’t mix against the lining of the esophagus and the nasal passages.  The good news is that I managed to get the first heave into the bag slated for cat litter and the rest of it in the toilet.

Don’t worry, it gets worse.  I wouldn’t waste your time with cat poop and pepper puke.  Tom came home while I was cleaning the little spots of puke near the cat litter.  I tried to tell him what happened and indicated that he finish the litter while he told me about cleaning up Fiona’s earlier “accidents.”

Then he let in McLovin.  And Tom first noted that his rear end is torn up and then noted that he has a huge bite mark on his fur and then noted that part of his tail is missing.  By this time, I was in the kitchen, snorting nose puke, which in turn set off another heave, which I caught in the same bag while I wondered how much permanent damage I might be doing to all my mucus membranes.  I still hadn’t seen the cat, but Tom started to sound alarmed.

This sound was not in vain.  The cat’s tail?  It is, in one spot, chewed down to what looks like the bone.  Not only that but something huge tried to take a chunk out of his flank, but left only bloody bite marks.  He has smaller wounds all over, with minimal blood loss and because of his tail, we didn’t look too hard at the other wounds (including the large bite mark) before I dispatched Tom to the Webster Animal Hospital (with the cat of course, who I had managed, with puke breath, to talk into a cat carrier).

I’m sure McLovin will be medically fine.  Cosmetically?  Well, this tussle may have ended his modeling career.

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