Night of the Puking Cats

Four cats produce a LOT of hairballs.

Perhaps I should restate that: TWO of our four cats produce a LOT of hairballs. And since this is shedding season, there are more hairballs than usual, despite almost daily brushing of the worst offenders.

When we returned from our trip to the Malice Domestic conference, we noted the lack of hairballs on the rug. We’re good, we told ourselves, and swept up the litter in the laundry room.
But it was not to last.

Why is it that cats pick the most inconvenient times and/or places to eject their hairballs? We took off for our cottage on Friday, taking the sisters (Betsy and Bonnie) with us. Going to the cottage gives them a break from our exuberant boys. We drove for about an hour, and just as we were pulling up, Bonnie started retching. Yuck! All over the towel in her carrier, and all over one of her legs. Ick! Good thing I have a box of tissues in the car.

We get inside, unpack, and sit down to relax for a few minutes. Rukka, rukka, rukka! Next up, it’s Betsy, and wouldn’t you know—she had just filled up on the dry cat food that we put out for the girls.
I don’t know how your cats react, but ours always puke at least three times. The main event, and then parts two and three (not as dramatic, but just as aggravating).

Okay, we figured. We’re good. They’ve both had hairballs. We should be safe for the weekend.
Nope.

There I was, sleeping in heavenly peace, when—Rukka, rukka, rukka! Good heavens! Who’s puking now? Since both cats had been in bed with us when we turned out the light, I didn’t know which one to go after. It was Betsy again! And not only that—she had puked on the pillow between us!

Wow—dodged a bullet. Off came the pillowcase! But Betsy wasn’t finished. Onto the floor. Into the hallway. Next up, the kitchen. She finished with one last volley on the living room rug.

I think I used half a roll of paper towel with that one, but figured she’d gotten it out of her system, and she’d be good to go for the night. And I was right! But I had not reckoned with her sister. Two hours later, I was awakened with a familiar sound: Rukka, rukka, rukka!

“Get off the bed!” I hollered, and Bonnie obeyed. She only puked three times. On the bedroom rug, the hall floor (which, thankfully is laminate), and the kitchen floor. More paper towel, more cursing and swearing.

It’s time like thesethat I have to remind myself: I love cats…I love cats…I love cats.