So last night we were about to go to bed when suddenly a gale picked up and whipped rain against our bedroom window. The first thought we both had was, "Shucks, the cat's gonna get wet!".
We raced downstairs and peered through the window but couldn't spot her so I opened the door. She immediately mewed pitifully and crawled right into the house, seeking shelter. Usually when paw meet threshold, the residing humans would emit a stern warning, "NO!" and the paw would automatically retract.
However, last night, human hearts melted with sympathy and we ended up housing Dat Fella (her official name for the moment) at the back of the house.
This morning, still lazing in bed at 9:45 when I suddenly remembered of our furry captive. I can almost imagine the scene for KS, as he continued to lie in anticipation while I ran down, his worst fears intensified as my cry of horror floated upstairs. Yes, dear folks, there was poo AND a vomited furball waiting for us to clean up.
As we cleaned up, "I don't think I'll ever be ready to have a baby", "No, this is good training for us"
I don't buy that. KS ended up cleaning three quarters of it after I touched the vomit while trying to clean up. I handed him paper towels and gagged.
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