02.07.17, 7:24am: We’re Up!

Scene: I’m asleep; have been, solidly, for at least 8 hours

Cat: *vomits*

Sense of hearing: I’m up! I’m up!

Sense of smell: *prays*

Sense of touch: *finds phone*

Thankfully, it’s almost 7:00. Neither the Dingo nor I moved. I have hardwood-type floors; that puke will still be there when my alarms start going off at 7:00, 7:15 and 7:30.

Yes, I’m that person.

When it kicks in that I need to pee, I feel pretty safe knowing, because of my keen echolocation-esque hearing, my cat’s mostly digested food isn’t on the way to the bathroom, but I move carefully just in case. Unfortunately, the bedroom light is on the other side of the scene of the barf.

Leaving the bathroom, its dark again in my room. The floors are dark, too. On my tiptoes, because if I step in it, I want less surface area involved, I make my way towards the light… switch.

Damn it, I didn’t think this through. Why didn’t I grab my phone for the flashlight? Sure, I could have turned back, but I kept going.

Sense of sight: Seriously? You know we can’t…

Sixth sense: Dude. Don’t move.

I stop. Could be a sock. Could be stomach stuff.

The light switch is right there, so close. Pretending to be a toe-point ballerina, I stand as tall as I can on one foot and place the other as far away as my body will allow (lots of squats recently; tight muscles) from the spot on the floor. Leaning as far as my arms can reach, I flick on the light.

I am straddling the scene.

Me: God damn cat *cleans up mess*

Sense of touch: We touched it! Ew! It’s cold!

Sense of taste: I am so glad I’m not involved here.

Dingo: *sitting on the bed with a worried look*

There may as well have been a moat of vomit; the Dingo wasn’t getting off the bed until it was clear. She was on a island of safety.

Me: It’s OK. I cleaned it up.

Dingo: OK. Phew. Cat puke scares me. *jumps off bed*

Cat: Hi! Hey, I’m hungry.

Twenty-five minutes later…

Cat: *vomits*


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