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The entry you are about to read contains references that may be upsetting to the weak-stomached. Parental discretion and eating cessation are advised. Rated M for Mature due to disturbing imagery and mild drug reference.
Last week, I was on the phone with my friend Vivian, having what was I’m sure an important philosophical debate, when I heard a sound that is all too familiar to cat owners. It starts with a wheeze, followed by a chuk-chuk-chuk, and then the inevitable explosion of cat puke, which in my case, typically lands on an important document or new pair of pants.
Normally I wouldn’t be so worried about a hairball, since it comes with the territory, but ever since the last health scare I had with one of my cats a few months ago, I’m a little overprotective. I hung up with Vivian and immediately started the search.
I went to all the usual locations:
And there it was – the entire contents of my cat’s stomach laid out for me to behold. But…why was it blackish-green? I started to freak out a bit. Why did my cats keep getting sick? Was it possible that, like canaries in a mine, they were reacting to some toxic chemicals in my house that had yet to affect me? I ran around the apartment looking for Maddox and Zahara* to determine which one was sick. Zahara was fast asleep in my underwear drawer (which now explains all the claw marks in my bras) so I knew that Maddox had to be the culprit.
I found him on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, curled up next to the now empty container of catnip I had forgotten to put away after refilling their cat toys earlier that day. Maddox had essentially consumed half a kilo of high-grade catnip in one sitting (street value estimated at $4.99), vomited the majority of it back onto my rug, and was now coming down off the biggest buzz of his life.
As soon as I picked him up, Maddy let out a squeaky, green-toothed meow, looked up at me with dilated pupils, and then immediately began purring and kneading my arm. I gently set him in his cat bed, turned on a soft light, covered him with a blanket, and sang him to sleep with a little, “No Woman, No Cry.” I then brought a bowl of food next to his bed, knowing that he would wake up with a case of the munchies like he’d never had before. It had all the makings of a Public Service Announcement: This is your cat. This is your cat on drugs. Get the picture?
*I’m so excited to announce that I recently got court approval to officially change my cats’ names to Maddox and Zahara. Now I am just trying to decide between Amadeo-Jolie-Pitt, or Jolie-Pitt-Amadeo.
Posted by runjenrun at January 26, 2006 05:26 AM
Puff, puff, GIVE kitty-cat. That's the rules, man.
Posted by: shari at January 25, 2006 10:51 PM
congrats on the name change. wonderful.
Posted by: jaymarie at January 26, 2006 12:46 AM
Who cares about W-2's and Oriental rugs, man?! Just be glad your Wild Horses painting and latch hook rug were safe from that drug induced sickness!
Also, Jen, even though I suspect your cat overdosed on the nip BECAUSE of his recent name change, I don't want you to blame yourself, dear. Just get him to a a 12-step program fast before he starts stealing money out of your purse for his next "fix"!
Posted by: Jessica at January 26, 2006 08:05 AM
HAHAHA! "No Woman No Cry"!
I'm, like, peeing myself over this thoughtful detail.
Posted by: ashbloem at January 26, 2006 08:46 AM
Reason to envy Jen's lifestyle #17: When she noticed claw marks on her bras, she didn't immediately know the source.
Posted by: Carrington at January 26, 2006 09:04 AM
I, too, have done the Cat-Puke-Dance-Of-Determination,that mad scramble to figure out where it is before you inadvertantly step in it. Once the target was my computer keyboard, which promptly died under the stress.
And I'm wondering about your social life, if it took that long to figure out the claw marks in your bra....
Posted by: Tracy Lynn at January 26, 2006 09:20 AM
I crave purrfect days like this when someone makes some comment about claw marks on her bra, and I get twitchy in excitement, ready to pounce all over it. But alas, the easy prey has already been caught, brought home half-dead on the doorstep.
Maybe I'll just go sulk, aloof in a sunbeam.
Posted by: peefer at January 26, 2006 09:58 AM
Shari: Maddox clearly never learned to share...
Jaymarie: Thanks - look for us on the cover of People! And welcome back - we missed you!
Jess: OMG - I felt sick just reading that! I never even thought about Wild Horses getting puked on. I think it's time to put that baby under glass.
Ash: Ha - thanks! He likes that one a lot better than Buffalo Soldier.
Carrington: Oh come on, now. Like you've never woken up in an unfamiliar room wearing nothing but shredded underwear? No? Anyone? Hello?
Tracy Lynn: KEYBOARD!! Oh, I'd flip out.
Peefer: Oh, c'mere little guy. You need a little catnip, huh? How 'bout I scratch you behind the ears?
Posted by: jenny at January 26, 2006 10:07 AM
Maybe Maddock is going through a rebelious stage due to being hyper-hyphenated. You didn't give him a faux-hawk lately, did you?
Posted by: The Scarlett at January 26, 2006 01:25 PM
Oh cuteness. My dog always runs straight to the nice rugs to be sick on, preserving the sanctity of the easy-wipe vinyl flooring.
Posted by: asia at January 27, 2006 02:00 AM
You know. . . aside from the fact that Maddox and Zahara could kick Fred's tiny tuckus, I'm concerned that they would be a bad influence on my naive and impressionable dog. He's already got a fettish for stuffed ducks, I don't want him doing drugs, too. I'm sorry, I don't think they can ever meet.
Posted by: jill at January 27, 2006 08:46 AM
Jenny, you are so funny! Gawd I love reading your blog. How is Maddy?
Posted by: Wiggy at January 27, 2006 10:16 AM
TS: You know, I hadn't even thought of that! Maybe my constant name changes have thrown him into a deep identity crisis! Quick - what's Dr. Phil's number?
asia: Yeah, I don't think they've ever gotten sick on linoleum. Why is that?
jill: I can't believe you are shutting them out like this. Particularly given the fact that I know Fred makes sweet, sweet love to his stuffed boy duck on an all-too-frequent basis. And my cats are the bad influence?! Harrumph!
Wiggy: Aw, thanks! And Maddy is detoxing as we speak. We're taking it day by day - the night sweats were the worst! Zahara's been really supportive through it all.
Posted by: jenny at January 27, 2006 10:59 AM
Beautiful cats. I chuckled at the image of you singing Bob Marley to your cat covered in tye dye.
Posted by: mrsfish at January 27, 2006 03:37 PM
Jen and Asia - My dog does the same thing. Entire apartment of easy to clean hardwood floors and he makes a mad dash for the same spot on the same rug whenever he needs to puke. Must be some sort of homing instinct.
Posted by: jg at January 27, 2006 07:28 PM
see, you would expect that the lack of opposable digits would make cats less dexterous in the opening of things department, but really, i think it just makes them more motivated...
Posted by: mainja at January 27, 2006 09:20 PM
ohhhhh poor maddox.
that happened to brontë once, and she's still wary about the 'nip. (or maybe i'm the wary one. finding her with huge pupils, purring with a kind of desperate edge to the rumble, rubbing and kneading the kitchen cabinet, was eerie. especially since her high happened at 3 am.)
Posted by: romy at January 28, 2006 02:11 PM
