The root of all evil — Cats!
"Be careful!", Adam cries out at 7:00AM this morning. I'd just gotten out of bed and I was on my way out of the bedroom when I received this message of warning. His voice was cracked and strained and I knew he still wasn't feeling well. "Careful of what?", I ask, a little concerned. He doesn't answer. I walk closer to the bed trying to catch a glimpse of his sleepy face but the covers are pulled and tucked everywhere around him, shielding him from the pains of consciousness. "Careful of what?", I ask again, louder this time. He pulls the covers down just enough so that he's audible, "kitty puke", he grumbles.
My eyes hadn't yet focused and already I was hunting vomit on a hardwood floor, my feline follower, Tsunami (which already I suspected was the vomit culprit) was padding beside me eager and thoroughly pleased that I was vertical. Walking along to the end of our railroad apartment, searching for cat puke, I half anticipated that my barefoot would find it before my eyes did. As luck would have it though Adam's foot had found it first and there was paper towel laid down atop the vomit to mark its juicy resting place. I looked at Tsunami who was now sitting next to the paper towel looking at me with his HUGE dilated black eyes as though to say, "see, I made this for you". "Thank you", I tell him and he meows a quiet acknowledgment and comes closer so that I may pet him. I politely decline his offer by stepping over him and his pukey present and continue to the kitchen to grab the Clorox wipes.
Bending down I remove the paper towels to get a better look at the gift Tsunami has left for me. This isn't a gross curiosity, as one might assume, but rather a necessary assessment of the vomit so that I might get a better idea as to the cause of the vomiting in the first place. Hairball? Sickness? Food? The reason is important and lets me better understand what it going on with my feline friend. The first pool (oh yes, there's often more than one pool) is brown goopy bile, not so uncommon mind you but if there's no hairball and no food in the bile then it is often the cause of another kind of sickness. The second pile right near the first, is more of the same brown bile but resting in the midst is something else. It's white and long and kind of tubular. It looks like a lilly that hasn't yet come into bloom. I pick it up with a Clorox wipe and unroll it. There, laying in my hand, covered in cat bile is a name tag that reads, "Satan".
Now, if I were Stephen King I'd just end the story right there, but since I'm not I'll go on to explain how Satan, or rather, Satan's name, ended up in my cats gut.
A few weeks ago I had a Halloween Horror Movie Night at my apartment. I have one of these parties every year and it consists of a small group of people who come over, eat, drink, and watch horror flicks. I usually decorate the apartment in some kind of Halloween fashion and pull together some trick or treat candy bags for all of my guests. This year those trick or treat candy bags had a small blank space in the upper left hand corner where you could write a name. I made up names for all of my guests and of course, my dear husband was Satan. He found this amusing, or something, and after dumping his candy into a glass dish to place on his desk, he cut out the name tag and placed that in the dish as well.
Tsunami loves to chew on plastic bags and when I saw this little name tag sticking out of the candy dish I thought nothing of it. But Tsunami thought something of it, it was quite clear, and decided consuming Satan would be in his very best interest.
To be cleaning up cat puke at 7:00AM and to find a name tag with "Satan" written on it, covered in bile, is somewhat appropriate. Don't you think?