This morning I had to get up very early so that we could get to my husband's medical appointment. My mood was not improved when, in my stocking feet, I stepped into something wet on the kitchen floor. It looked like---well, you know about the dessert, "Floating Island"? This was a hairball floating in a puddle of brownish liquid. (I made a mental note to myself: "black hair, it must be Bonita, dose her with hairball remedy tonight.")

This afternoon, back at home, I heard a loud "Glup. Glup. Glup." My eyes darted to the porch where Bonita was sitting, innocently enjoying the sun. Must be Spicy, then, I thought, but had I let her back in? With three cats, I get a bit confused about who's in, who's out. The noise came from the kitchen. She's in the kitchen, I thought. I rushed in to hear the noise emanating from the sink, with nary a cat in sight. I had cleaned out the refrigerator earlier and inverted a gallon jug half-full of cider that had become a little sharp tasting. The sound was ever so familiar. But it was coming from the jug as the cider drained out and the air replaced it in bubbles.

Now, should anyone *ever* happen to ask, I can describe *exactly* what the sound of a cat vomiting is like.

Copyright © Lynda Goldsmith
February 14, 2001