Now let me tell you something about my cats. They are both furry little puke machines, yet they each have their own special style. Gross but true, you can usually tell whodunit without actually witnessing the event.
M, our boy cat, is an overeater. He practically inhales his food. You can tell that a nasty pile is his because the food is not only undigested, but also unchewed. We have to feed him from a plate, rather than a bowl, because the flat surface forces him to handle the food pieces individually.
Z, on the other hand, has always behaved herself with food. She throws up because of hairballs. That doesn’t make it any less disgusting, but it earns her some small measure of forgiveness. Her contributions are usually of a liquid nature, with a hairball on top, like a garnish.
What on earth, you may ask, made me want to write about such a revolting topic? Well, Z does some peculiar things when she’s throwing up. Yesterday, for example, she did this weird pivot thing. Imagine that there was a clock face on the floor and that that cat was its hour hand. She was standing on the edge of the rug, heaving, and with each heave she turned an hour or two, moving the projected landing site of her hairball from the safe zone (the hardwoord floor) to the danger zone (the carpet) and back again. Sick, huh?