A few days ago I had horrible intestinal cramps and vomiting. This is a side-effect from major abdominal surgery several years back, and once in a while, without warning, this happens. I was warned that it would be a part of my post-surgical life, and that there was nothing I would be able to do about it, except live with it. Okay, that part, considering the alternative, I was fine with. But it seems like everything else happens whenever I already have these annoying, but happily fairly brief, flare-ups.

Anyhow --

I crawled into bed after being sure there was not possibly anything left in my system for me to throw up, heartily resenting that this surgical glitch had to appear on the same night that my daughter chose to bake her county-fair-winning chocolate chip cookies. I was very hungry. I could smell them. I wanted some. I knew what would happen if I ate one. I was exhausted, my innards hurt from having the dry heaves, and I felt miserable.

Our half-Siamese black kitten, James, came and snuggled on the pillow right beside me. He insisted on curling up right by my face, and in shoving his head under my hand for pats. This was sweet. He is a Familiar in training…everyone in our family is sure about this. But somehow he sensed I was feeling dreadful and he wanted to display sympathy. I felt comforted. He was here to comfort me.

That’s what I thought. It turned out, belatedly, that he had come to ME for comfort.

I don’t know how much later it was, but I felt James jump to his feet and then I heard that “urp urp” sound that means serious business. A hundredth of a second later I was liberally sprayed with feline vomit, including particles, as James heaved projectile vomit over a three-foot sweep.

I shot bolt upright and switched on the light just as James got sick on the other side of the bed, and then became hysterical and bounded all over the bed, meowing frantically and belching forth at intervals. He saved the biggest expulsion for the last, after he'd leaped back into my arms for reassurance.

Not only did I have to remove my nightgown and take a bath, including washing my hair, I had to strip the bed and wash everything, including the pillows, and then I had to vacuum the floor because there were pieces of vomit in a trail from the bed to the washing machine.

I won't mention the things I was muttering under my breath as I performed these ablutions except to say that they were not of an entirely ladylike nature.

Has anyone else ever had a day like that? I'm sure you have, but it might be fun to hear about it.

Katlin