NOTE: This story gets gross towards the end. If you have a weak stomach, be prepared.

Cats allegedly have over 100 distinctive vocal sounds. I'm not sure if this is true or not, but they do certainly have reasonable vocabulary, most of which I think I understand.

I understand the "feed me" meows – there are about 10 of those, varying from the "I wouldn't knock back a snack if it was offered to me" level, to the "I will simply die of starvation if you do not feed me this instant" sort of urgency.

I also understand "hello" and "thank you", and occasionally I'm even blessed with what I think is "I love you".

There are others, such as "quit bothering me!", "FOAD" and, "get off my tail, you klutz!"

There are only a few that will really get me moving. I have learnt that the meow which means "Mum! Mum! Help! The aliens behind the curtain/under the bed are trying to eat me again" doesn't mean that I should get up and beat the aliens with a pulp, but rather go and try to pacify a cat frightened by his own shadow, most likely. The other sound, which will get me moving at light speed is the all-so-familiar "horka horka" sound, which means "I am about deposit my lunch on your carpet. I wonder which spot is the best to show off my handy work?"

I think I'm pretty good at understanding cat-speak actually, and although I certainly can't speak particularly good cattish (I can do an Ok Mrrp!), I think Shmoggleberry and I generally communicate quite well.

To shatter my illusions, Shmoggleberry came in a gave me a very odd "Ree-oh", a sound which I've never heard before, yet alone could interpret. Thinking it was just another way Shmoggleberry attempting to explain to me exactly when the mothership was due, I didn't think much more of it. He seemed to be acting reasonably normally, anyway. I went back to watching telly.

About an hour later, Joel left the room to visit the bathroom.

"Errrr! Yuuuk!" Joel mutters, disdainfully.
"What?" I say, casually.
"oh, Grosssssss"
"What's up?"
"Oh, grosss", Joel repeats, this time with a bit of concern in his voice.
"What is it?", I question.
"Oh this is just disgusting. Grarg, I'm going to be sick," he says, racing for the confines of the bathroom. I hear Joel retching, and think I should show some support to my loved one.

I too, enter the Hallway of Horror.

There is vomit. Everywhere. There are various types, ranging from the puddles that have successfully seeped into the carpet, to the barely digested cat-biscuits challenging my stomach and every sort in-between. Gross does not describe the sight, let alone the odour. I can feel my stomach turning, and steel myself for the inevitable cleaning job. Meanwhile, after ridding himself of his lunch, Joel refused to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom until I've cleaned up the mess, so as to avoid "driving the porcelain bus" again.

I cleaned it up the best I could, but of course, it left a stain, or should I say several different stains, up and down the corridor. Unfortunately the alleged "cleaning powder" I had thought I was really smart to get to protect my brand new carpet (soap and water has always been good enough for rented, old carpet) has made it worse by also leaving brown dust on top of the stain, making the marks even more obvious than they would otherwise be. I guess the odd sound of "Ree-oh" was Shmoggleberry's way of telling me his was going to be sick, but what really annoys me that he announces to the presence of a mere hairball to the world with the "horka horka" routine, but was absolutely silent throughout this serious vomiting session.

Let me reassure everyone that he is otherwise OK, and I put down the sickness to a bodgy can of cat food. Joel is particularly relieved that I am no longer particularly concerned that he may drip a few drops of coffee on the carpet, but I bet I'm the only one who needs to steam clean their carpet less than two months after purchasing it. Never mind. Shmoggleberry is still worth it.

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
July 10, 1999