New Olympic Sport

It seems that little Pookie is taking inspiration from the Olympics. He just gave a medal-worthy performance in the Vomit Toss.


My own fault for forgetting to pull the other cat food after supper (I usually pull food before letting Newt out of his lunch room). The crafty little devil mesmerized me with his King of Yarnia routine, and I was so busy adding Romano and tuna flakes to entice him to eat his leftovers, that I completely forgot the other bowl in the top of the bay window.

Until I heard the unmistakable clang slurp gulp noise of his notorious forbidden food feeding frenzy.

Muttering an expletive, I sprang to my feet and raced across the kitchen to grab the now-empty bowl. I was mentally kicking myself for the oversight, and trying to figure out how much of the premium, high-protein food he might have ingested, and whether or not I should direct dose some Lactulose stat.

Happily, Newt saved me the mental gymnastics, as I had no sooner sat back down at my desk, where he, still perched in the top of the bay window, began to lurch and heave and launch the most impressive demonstration of projectile vomiting I have ever witnessed.

Once again, I sprang to my feet and raced back across the distance.

In languorous, slow-motion, it arced gracefully across the kitchen, suspended in mid-air for a one, two, three count, until it dispersed with a fat, wet splat! On the just-washed kitchen floor, the just-washed rug, just-refreshed water bowl  …

The Dog and I may, or may not, have also been splashed by the spatter pattern – I’ll never tell!