Of our four cats, two are frequent vomiters.
Two almost never vomit, but those two vomit so regularly that if we encounter some in our travels through the house, we are able to identify the author by the style of the prose. (“There’s some vomit over here!” “Whose?” “Uma’s!” “Okay, I know what kind of paper towel to get!”)
Hairballs are a major factor in the production of the vomit, and therefore our number one producer is our fluffiest, Gilbert; our number two is Uma, who gro…oms him and anybody else who applies for that consideration.
Human beings do not have this arrangement. (“Overall, Jeeves, I vomit more frequently than I would like to. Would you be so kind as to take over, let us posit, about one third of my vomiting for me?” “Why, yes, Carstairs, my good man. I would be pleased to perform precisely that service for you.”)
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(To the troll who wanted everybody to know that I’m a shitty writer anyway: I just wrote an elegant and entertaining post about cat vomit. *Drops mike*).
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