I woke up this Saturday to seven puddles of cat vomit. There are days when I think we should have named Leroy Charles, so we could call him Mr. (Up) Chuck, but Charles was the name of one of my grandfathers, so I think that choice of monikers might have gone over poorly with the family. Whatever I wanted to call him, unfortunately, Leroy clearly wasn’t feeling quite like himself.
As cats go, Leroy is wonderful. He never claws the furniture, attempts to escape into the great outdoors, or pees on things that don’t belong to him. All Leroy asks of life is a little kibble three times each day and a warm lap in the evening (or whenever he can find someone who is willing to snuggle) and he’s a contented beast.
His one bad habit, aside from the drooling, is eating hair elastics. I have so much hair that I need the super heavy duty hair bands with the rubber tread that keeps them from slipping, and Leroy seems to think they’re some sort of bland calamari. Despite my best efforts to keep them hidden and locked away, every now and then, Leroy will snack on one. As far as I can tell, he managed to open the door into the front porch where I keep my swimming bag, which may or may not have been latched, and went through my swimming stuff until he found the lone hair elastic at the bottom of the bag. I found a few little chunks of it, still wet with cat spit, on the front door carpet when I went into the porch to get Sherman’s breakfast on Saturday.
The best case scenario when Leroy eats an elastic is that he chews it small enough that it just passes through: when it goes this way, I find little chunks of elastic in his poop. Very thankfully, he’s never had an obstruction that’s put him into the hospital. I’ve never claimed Leroy was intelligent, just sweet; he is the embodiment of the “dumb blonde” cliche, but I love him.
A few times, Leroy hasn’t chewed his loop of rubbery joy enough for it to go anywhere. On those occasions, the big pieces of elastic have sat in his belly until he threw them up. That’s what I found on Saturday. To add to the entertainment value of the vomit, Leroy ate his bedtime meal on Friday despite being full of elastic. Normally, he’d refuse to eat if he’d spoiled his dinner on ponytail ties, but on Saturday I got to play a fun game of “Guess Where He Started Puking,” a game for the whole family where the prizes are piles of half-digested food and puddles of bile. The chunkier the mess, the earlier in the old heave-ho it was deposited. The first five messes were in the kitchen, and the last two, and the winner that finally produced the elastic itself, was in my office.
It was a nasty mess, but I’d rather clean up cat puke than cat pee (actually, I’d rather deal with most things over cat pee) so a few minutes with the pancake flipper, paper towels, and disinfectant, and the horror was over. (The Electrician didn’t even say anything when he saw me turning pancakes Sunday morning; that’s how good a man he is). Unfortunately, poor Leroy didn’t feel like himself for the rest of the day. He refused his food and moped in a corner. The Electrician was really upset about Leroy’s sudden attitude change, particularly since the man hasn’t had a day without hairy ankles since we started dating. Leroy thinks he’s the best thing going in a beard.
Finally, The Electrician went into the back bedroom that will be my office if I ever get it all tidied up and fetched my pouting puker. After playing up the tragedy of his indigestion all day, Leroy suddenly became himself again. He purred so vibrantly we had to turn up the volume on the television while he covered The Electrician’s dark blue housecoat with a lush forest of cat hair.
Leroy seems to be over his tummy ache, which is a good thing because I have a mild panic every time he does this, wondering if this incident will be the one that kills him. Since I started locking my elastics away, Leroy very rarely finds one to treat himself with and he hasn’t been looking for a replacement for this bad snack, but any loose elastic is fair game in his eyes. I would be crushed if anything ever happened to my furry numbskull, so I’m trying my best to be diligent about keeping them away from him.
Somehow, I don’t think Leroy is too worried. As I type this, he’s eyeing my computer, knowing that as soon as I set it down he can curl up and purr like mad. He is the original laptop around here.
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