The Bad Night

WARNING: This is a post about cats and vomit. Proceed with caution.

One of the things about going from being in an Extreme Long Distance Relationship to Living Together For The First Time is a period of time affectionately known as Getting Used To Each Other's Crap.

The Gentleman and I have been together for over three years at this point, but we both knew that moving in together was going to require some transition. We are both very used to being on our own. For the most part, however, we've transitioned quite nicely and aside from the rogue argument about wet towels (HONESTLY JUST HANG THEM UP) or an accidental wine spill every day from time to time, it's been just fine.

The Gentleman has been incredibly patient with my out-of-work anxiety, which manifests in delicious dinners (that took 16 hours to make) and him coming home every evening to find that I've purchased some new girly smelly thing or moved things around in the house. He has also been patient with the fact that I've only been here for two weeks and am in the early stages of making new friends and finding things to do on my own.

Hence, the other night, he was quite excited because I had plans to try a new book club and he had plans to play video games on the couch. 

This dream was swiftly quashed.

First, I had been feeling "off" for last day or so. Tired, headachey, angsty...symptoms that I chalked up to being bored but that began to get worse and by Tuesday afternoon were accompanied by that menacing gurgle of the stomach. By the time I was showering to get ready to go to the book club, I discovered a desperate need to lie down and/or die. When I couldn't lift the blow dryer to dry my hair, I suddenly realized that the thought of taking a cab downtown to a social event was but a pipe dream. I put on yoga pants and crawled into bed and it was the best decision I'd ever made.

This in and of itself wasn't so big a deal. I was happy to lay in bed and doze while watching Super Fun Night on my iPad, and The Gentleman had the tv all to himself for video games.

And then Small Troubled Cat began screaming.

I have heard this cat howl before - and it's horrible - but a screamer for no reason she is not. This was a horribly painful, miserable yowling and we both came running to discover that she'd deposited a stomachful of food all up and down the hallway of the flat. I cleaned it up and went back to bed. Small Troubled Cat is not a puker normally (that's the other cat, Sushi, who I start to worry about if he doesn't puke at least once every other day), but I just assumed something hadn't agreed with her. She seemed fine, too; happy to join me on the bed where we convalesced together. Until, suddenly, she started convulsing and yowling again and then proceeded to puke up little piles of white foam.

I ran around the house with paper towels and disinfectant spray, cleaning up the little piles, and she convulsed and yowled. The Gentleman looked up a 24 hour vet, and I frantically Googled "yowling cat puking up white foam."

Don't Google that.

The yowling, according to Google, was because she is not normally a puker and she was terrified every time her little body convulsed. In retrospect, it's quite funny - she is so obviously broken as a cat that she terrifies herself when she vomits. Add this to the list of other things she's scared of - brooms, dryers, hair dryers, the dry cleaner delivery guy, mops, plastic bags, life itself....

Small Troubled Cat puked her way around the flat for a good hour and a half. At this point, I was even more exhausted and feeling like crap, Sushi (the other cat) was perplexed and annoyed that she was getting all of the attention, and The Gentleman (who has never had pets before) kept asking me if she was dying. We finally collapsed on the couch in front of Archer (video games having long been abandoned) after the last violent round of foam pitching, and Small Troubled Cat crawled, exhausted, into my lap. 

Resting after an hour and a half of pure trauma. For me.

She stopped puking after that, and the next morning she scarfed down her breakfast and then proceeded to bring me each of her toys to show them to me. I'm pretty sure she's ok.

We have no clue what she got into to make her puke and convulse like that, and a thorough check of the flat revealed nothing. She's been fine since.

Oh, and in case you were still worried about me, after the cat puking incident I went to bed and slept for 11 hours and felt a thousand times better the next day. While I was loathe to have to skip out on new book club, in retrospect it was excellent timing - had The Gentleman been on his own when the Small One freaked out, it would have been pure chaos and I'm sure they both would have been yowling and vomiting out of fright.

Also, I must add a note here that The Gentleman is the most patient and kind roommate I've ever had. Especially for someone that has never had pets (and was deathly allergic in his youth), he has adjusted well to his fiance and her two cats coming to live with him and has been flexible and accommodating. Except for his office - which is the one room in the flat in which the cats are not allowed and therefore the one room they are desperately curious about, but that is a story for another time.