Stockton

I have to take a break from back logging for a moment to discuss the happenings of yesterday.

My cat Stockton and I have this routine, you see.  Every morning, I wake up to find my cute little cat lying on the floor of my room at the foot of my bed.  As soon as my feet hit the ground, he gets up.  He races me to the kitchen (he always wins, because I am WAY too groggy to even try to race… also, races are dumb).  As Stockton celebrates his victory, I get him his breakfast… a little bowl full of cat food.  While Stockton chows down, I get ready for the day.  Once I’m ready and about to leave for work, I let him out the back door so he can frolic outside while the Husband and I are at work.  That’s our routine.  It really works well for us.

Well, yesterday morning was just like any other morning.  Stockton raced me to the kitchen, I gave him his food, I let him eat in peace while I got ready.  While I’m in the bathroom, putting my face on (I love that term, by the way, “putting my face on”… makes me feel like an old lady from the south), I hear a terrible noise.  It sounded like someone was madly plunging a very clogged toilet… only the noise was coming from my kitchen.  Just so you know, I don’t have a toilet in my kitchen.

I stuck my head out of the bathroom, mascara wand in hand and asked the Husband “What is that horrible noise?”  The Husband, who was still in bed, just rolled over.

I ran out to the kitchen to see Stockton, hunched over, dry heaving like I’ve never seen a cat dry heave before.  I screamed at the cat, “No Stockton, don’t do it!!!”  He took a brief moment to look up at me, then barfed everywhere.

Something you should know about me: I don’t do barf.  I myself have only vomited a handful of times in my life.  It’s foreign to me.  I don’t like things that I don’t understand.  Thankfully, I have the Husband.  He can handle the barf.  I’m sure he doesn't find cleaning up our cat’s breakfast enjoyable… but he does it because he’s brave and he loves me.

After kicking Stockton out of the house, I ran to the Husband and promptly let him know he had some vomit to clean up.  Goodness I married a good man!

Fast forward now to the end of the day.  I get home from work and see that the Husband is also home.  I’m talking to my mom on the phone as I open our front door.  The door slowly swings open and I find Stockton at the top of the stairs (the Husband must have let him in).  We stare at each other for a moment.  He has this look in his eyes, and I just know what’s going to happen next.  “Stockton!”  I shout, “Don't you dare do it!!!!” and then the toilet plunger noise starts up again.  I start screaming “Stockton!!!” over and over again as I race up the stairs (still on the phone with my mother).  I get to the top of the stairs and try to push him with my foot.  “Please Stockton, don’t do it!  At least move onto the tile… not on the carpet, please, please, not on the carpet!”  But Stockton won’t budge… and then he barfs.

I tiptoe around the vomit and force the poor cat outside (mom is still on the phone, do doubt convinced her daughter is a maniac).  I find the Husband in the bathroom.  I knock on the bathroom door, “Honey, you have more barf to clean up”.  All the Husband can say is “great”. 

Poor Stockton was quarantined outside for the rest of the evening and all night long.  I just couldn’t stand the thought of more cat barf in my house.  The toilet plunger noise would NOT leave my mind.  Am I a bad pet owner?  I think maybe I am… and the sad part is that I'm ok with it.