Vom Bomb

For those of you who are squeamish and don't like in depth conversations about cat vomit, I suggest you stop reading here and instead use your time to look at people.com and comment on how ugly people's clothes are.

For the rest of you, I have a nasty story for you...

This morning at 5:17 (on our clock - which is actually 23 minutes fast) I woke up to the sounds of Glug, Glug, Glug, Hack, Bleech.  I sat straight up and squinted toward the sound.  My nighttime contact-less eyes told me it was either a raccoon or Fat Linda retching right at the threshold of our room.  It couldn't be Lorenzo, because he was still sleeping on my head like a Russian hat.  I had a passing thought that I should leap out of bed and toss Fat Linda the Vomiter into the plastic-floored bathroom, but since the expulsion had already occurred, I didn't really move.  I told myself I would wait five minutes before I got up to clean the mess, just to be sure she was done.  I would just rest my eyes while I was waiting.

Moments later, my alarm rang signifying 6:00 am.  Oops.  Nothing like aged puke.  It took a while for me to gather my will and strength to clean up Fat Linda's gift.  But as I approached the scene, I felt a growing sense of horror.  Something wasn't right.

First, she left a series of nasty puke logs, which are gross enough, but then I saw the wall.  Splatters of chunk were all over.  Alarmed, I called over to Sleeping Mark, "Fat Linda projectile vomited all over the wall!  Should we take her to the vet!?"
"Nope."

Here is a picture of both.  They are far enough away to give you the idea of what I saw without the nauseating detail.  The wall picture is less impressive in this form, you might have to click on it to enlarge the detail.

I cursed Fat Linda under my breath as I scrubbed up the mess.  The close contact allowed me to make some observations.  All the years of watching CSI gave me some seriously powerful skills.  The puke marks on the wall were not consistent with an explosion.  Instead they were castoff marks (directional splats).  There was extra puke distributed around the carpet here and there too.

My informed conclusion was this:  Fat Linda spewed all over the floor and then forgot about it.  Not long later, she walked right through it and got it on her paws.  Like most felines, she didn't enjoy the feeling of a coated paw and she did the cat-foot-flick, thus splattering the wall with directional splat puke marks.

The whole situation accomplished several things:  caused me to lose valuable morning time that should have been used to make myself look less ugly, revitalized the flat vs. eggshell wall paint battle that has been waging for 8 months, and completely reinforced the idea that Fat Linda has serious mental limitations.  Who walks through their own puke and then flings it all over the wall!?

And who takes pictures of it and writes paragraphs of complete nonsense describing it?

Who wins the dumb war?  Fat Linda or Lily?  It might be a draw.