It's Tough to be a Fuzzy Wee Sickly Ickly Thing

I walked out of the bedroom this morning to find two piles of cat vomit. This isn't totally unusual, since Olivia is a ginormous pigglesworth who has the occasional tendency to eat like food is going out of style and make herself sick. So I cleaned it up and went to work and didn't give it much thought.

Until, that is, I saw Matilda vomiting in the office. Now, Tilsy never vomits, so that was unusual. And then she ran from one side of the room to the other, vomiting a second time, which was really weird. Then she ran out into the living room and did it twice more. Then she ran back into the office and had diarrhea, before dashing upstairs and vomiting once more before running behind the chaise, where she sat, looking very forlorn and freaked out and unwell. I crawled back as close as I could get and cooed at her, trying to sound soothing. She looked back at me with big, blue, petrified eyes, as if to ask, "What's wrong with me?!"

The mad sick spree had taken about two hours from start to finish, with me running around cleaning up the mess, trying not to yak myself, and attempting to figure out what the hell she'd eaten that made her so sick. And all the while, I was calculating whether I should pack her up and cart her off to the vet—which would upset the nerky wee thing on a good day—or just let this run its course. I couldn't bring myself to wrench her out from her safe spot, so I got a bowl of fresh, clean water and set it where she could see it. Olivia did her part by taking a sip, to show Tilsy it was there and it was good. I relocated from the office to the chaise for the afternoon.

About an hour ago, Tilsy emerged and gingerly drank some water. I whistled at her and she hopped up on the chaise in her favorite position, tucked between the arm and my side, her paws just on the edge of the keyboard. She nudged my arm with her nose, which is code for "Scratch my head now or I can't be held responsible if I start gnawing on your arm." The head-scratching commenced, with chirpified purring following immediately thereafter.

Hopefully, Ms. Fuzzybutz is on the mend.

"I can't believe you mentioned the squirts. That was personal."

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