Nasty wasty skunk
It had already happened once this evening.
I was sitting here tapping away on the keys of the computer when I began to hear “hork! hork! hork!”. I could tell the sound was coming from a carpeted area, so I jumped up and discovered Agent Mooshie about to deposit the contents of his stomach onto the rug. I began hollering and shooing him towards the wood flooring.
He ran to another area of carpet, of course. Cats are so unhelpful.
I eventually got him corralled into the back room, which has a wood floor, where the inevitable occurred.
After doing clean up I sat down and resumed tapping. It was maybe half an hour later when once again I began to hear horking. I sprang up.
This time he was parked on the Christmas tree skirt and was in full urp position. I knew I didn’t have a moment to spare and so I was making noise at him before I ever managed to leave my chair. Once again, he began to run to other carpeted areas.
I chased him around the sofa, which is much closer to the wall than it is when we don’t have a tree taking up space in the living room. He kept stopping, and I kept hollering. I was determined to get him onto the wood floor before he ralphed up his kibble.
Who am I kidding? He wasn’t just ralphing up his kibble. He was also ralphing up Doctor Love’s kibble. And Queen Fancypants’ kibble. And probably some hair balls and dust bunnies and heaven only knows what else. He doesn’t exactly have a discriminating palate.
As I was rounding the back corner of the sofa, yelling and shooing and hoping I wasn’t waking the entire household, I smacked the back of my left hand on a corner of the wall. Hard.
I gasped and yipped and grabbed my already throbbing hand. Moosh cast a shifty eye at me before unceremoniously dumping his remaining stomach contents onto the carpet and then running off into the back room.
Dork butt cat.
I fought back tears and got the carpet cleaner spray and swabbed up another vile mess. Nasty.
It appears I broke some blood vessels on the back of my wrist and hand. I also scraped a few layers of skin off my hand and index finger, which has finally stopped oozing blood. It’s still swelling and aches like crazy. No reason to believe I broke any bones, but it hurts to type. Once I hit “post”, I’m going to break down and take some ibuprofen, which I don’t like to do, and go to bed. I should probably ice it from the looks of things, but I’m tired and whimpery and don’t feel like it.
I mean, seriously…the tree skirt? What kind of grinch cat tries to puke on the tree skirt?
Santa is so going to hear about this.