If a person were to visit my house, the first room they’d walk into if they adhered by the normal standards of egress via the front door would be the living room.  The interesting choice of construction and decoration of the previous owners hasn’t yet been changed, the navy blue and white walls however, coordinated with our milk chocolate brown couch and cream loveseat and big chair so we’re not in a hurry (yet) to get moving on a change.  We’ve had this squishy and comfortable furniture for twelve years now and it’s in desperate need of being replaced a cleaning, but we’ve chosen to ignore that little issue with strategic draping of towels and blankets.  Why, you ask.  Well, kiddos – we have pets.

Not just any pets, but a dog who has taken to sleeping on the furniture when we’re gone for the day (and who drools when she sleeps…like I do) and two cats, who for the life of me, feel that these pieces of furniture are the best repositories for vomit.   Needless to say that our cream-colored loveseat and chair are more… mottled in tone and color now.

Just this morning, as I was catching up on the Book of Faces, coffee, emails, Tweets, more emails, thinking about what to have for breakfast and blog posts from other bloggers, I heard it.  If you have pets, especially cats, you know the sound.  That sucking, horking, thank-goodness-you’re-not-wearing-socks-because-nothing-sucks-more-than-stepping-in-a-wet-spot-on-the-floor-with-socks-on sound of a cat about to hurl all over something not easily cleaned.

I panicked for a moment, torn between whether I should grab a handful of tissues or just run out and see if I could grab whichever cat was about to puke and get them to a non-plush surface in time, grabbing clean-up supplies after.  Foregoing the tissues, I hurriedly stepped to the next room, zeroing in on Alex, our Kidney Failure Cat, heaving and about to blow.  Again.  Thankfully the towels over the arms of the couch caught the first round but he was about to spew on the carpet (thankfully dark, navy blue) and I grabbed him with the thought of, “please don’t vomit because I grabbed you too fast”, and got him to the dining room floor.

A short “stay right there and throw up on the wood floor” corral-the-cat-dance was accompanied by a ballerina-like bend and twist to snag a few tissues from one of the ubiquitous boxes I have placed around the house to clean up whatever prize was going to hit the floor.

Then I realized that every time I hear one of the cats about to puke, I picture this in my head:

I guess what I’m saying is… I feel like Garth a lot of days.

Here’s to hoping you have a puke-free Friday!!!  Party on, Wayne!