This weekend, I don’t have Romilly. For various reasons, she wasn’t able to spend it with me, so I’ve got the entire time to myself. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with all this time, but I was sure that it meant no tantrums, no early morning wake-ups, no cleaning up after “accidents”, and no cleaning up vomit.

And then Genghis vomitted.

So much for the vomit thing.

Genghis isn’t your typical cat. He’s not very capable at anything, other than beating up whatever happens to be closest. His vision seems to be unable to tell that the scary creature making the rustling noise is just a plastic bag. His brain seems to be unable to tell the difference between the neighbourhood cat on the outside of the window that’s hissing at him, the cat next to him inside the window that lives here, and me. More particularly, my rear end. I have a small scar now.

So Genghis vomitted. He does this a lot, but only because he insists on scoffing down biscuits without chewing them. He eats far too many biscuits, far, far too quickly, and then they come right back up, unchewed and whole. He does this even when other food is siting there, as in this instance.

Kurt started congratulating Genghis on his one talent: vomitting in a neat little pile in an obvious place on the easy-to-clean floor. He has honed this skill over the years. It is truely the one thing that he manages to do well. I went to get a cloth to clean up the vomit, only to discover that he had also vomitted all over the cats’ evening meal; a huge pile of partially digested, unchewed biscuits, all over the floor and into a bowl full of fish.

Romilly: 1
Genghis: 0