The Great Spew-off of 2013

**SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT**

I’m sure the title of this post has enticed you to read further. But first, I must insert a plug for my XTREME Hike to benefit the CF Foundation! If you aren’t up on the details, read here. There are two ways to support this amazing cause:

  1. Donate directly via my fundraising page
  2. Shop my Stella & Dot trunk show for a cause and a percent of sales go directly to my hike fundraising

No amount is too large or too small – thank you in advance!

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If you haven’t noticed, (although if you are one of the ten people who read this blog – 99% of which are related to me – then I assume you have noticed) I’ve been shirking my blog duties. I want you to know I have a really good reason — really good. Let me recount for you the happenings of The Great Spew-off of 2013.

One balmy August evening the boyfriend and I were scooted to the farthest edges of the bed possible to avoid stewing in each other’s sweat. (This is what love actually looks like. Only crazy people spoon in the summer, in North Carolina.) My little boy kitty Axl was curled into my chest, and my foster girl-dog Demi was in her crate after starting her late-night pacing rounds at midnight.

Right around 3:30 am boy kitty starts convulsing. A few seconds later I imagine he looked something like this —

63-Cat-Projectile-Vomit

But it was 10 times worse. By which I mean my entire bed was covered in vomit. The.whole.damn.bed. Uncharacteristic for me, but I stayed calm. I grudgingly began to strip the bed as this was the third time that week my bedding needing washing due to a cat-related incident. (Yes, he went to the vet as I know this wasn’t normal. On an unhappy note there is a really awful reason for the projectile vomiting. My advice to everyone with a pet — get insurance. Terminal illnesses cost a shit-ton.)

My wonderful boyfriend – who normally can sleep through anything and probably wouldn’t have roused if Axl didn’t attempt to puke on his head – headed into the kitchen to grab cleaning supplies. He was nearly knocked down by the smell of the explosive diarrhea which Demi had thoughfully provided for us to also clean.

I’m not sure which prompted the other. Perhaps Axl caught whiff of Demi’s explosion with his sensitive nostrils. Or, maybe Demi could not longer hold it in when she caught the delicious aroma of partially digested cat food mixed with bile. Either way it was clearly a competition – and I am declaring it a tie.

You want to know what else is real love? Turning to my boyfriend and saying “Which one do you want?”

It wasn't nearly this cute.

It wasn’t nearly this cute.

 

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