As long as we’re telling kitty puke stories… I was sitting on the couch, Phoebe the Tabby was on my lap, and Auggie, The Cutest Dog on the Planet ™, was on the floor in front of the couch, sort of under my feet. Phoebe started making that awful HORKaa HORKaa HORKaa noise, and I was trying to find something to put under her chin so I wouldn’t have to clean up. Too late, she puked on the dog. Auggie looked at the cat barf running down his side, and apparently thought, “Snack!”. So, I had to haul him into the kitchen and clean him off before he could do it himself. It would have been easier to clean up the couch!
If I am ever in a Terri Schiavo-like vegetative coma, just bring a cat into the hospital and have it throw up. If–as soon as it starts going ulp ulp ulp–I don’t leap out of bed screaming “not on the furniture! not on the furniture! not on the furniture!” then it’s safe to remove the feeding tubes.
My father, who doesn’t particularly like cats, once had a cat give birth on his head. We had one cat, Miss Big(Her sister was Miss Little, sorry, I was very young), who was very attached to my dad for some reason. So obviously when she went into labor she chose what she figured was the safest spot in the house, perched right up on his pillow. To hear him tell it, it’s a hell of a way to wake up.
-Lil
My aunt’s cat chose the area beneath her water bed. There was a sort of storage cabinet beneath the frame, and she somehow got into there. Unfortunately, there was no way to get into there to clean up unless you took apart the entire bed.
The matress had to be drained, headboard removed (and it was one of those big, heavy mirrored things with shelves and whatnot) the frame taken apart, and then, and only then, could she get under there.
