Fresh Hell

As is not uncommon in my home, which is dominated by the presence of three of the best cats ever. (ok, I lie but 2 of them are looking over my shoulder and I'm deeply afraid they can read) I awoke to the dulcet tones of a cat vomiting. Wasn't sure specifically where on the second floor this might have been taking place, so I vaulted out of bed (ok, again I lie, this was more of a crept out gingerly kind of deal) and as is my habit after quaffing the collection of pre-breakfast pills I seek out my Crocs and aha! I find the vomit, squished in between me toes. A plethora of choice epithets escaped my lips and I headed for the bathroom where I dispatched the vomick into the local sewerage system, feeling strangely grateful that I did not have to bust out the carpet cleaner.