So, Chicken took up Recrational Barfing this morning. You know, think, recreational fishing, or something, only this time it's a cat. Barfing. For fun. All over my apartment.
I had just fed the ferocious felines this morning, and was in my usual morning rush. I have to get ready quickly, you know, seeing as though I hit snooze for a half hour every morning. And that's a half hour I could REALLY use to get ready. Anyway, not the point.
The point IS, Chicken. I could hear that beast retching from a mile away. Well, at least from the bathroom, which is four inches from where she was standing, preparing to vomit. All over. I hear the sound, and my skin crawls, and I immediately know it's Chicken, Oh Bulimic One. She tends to eat so fast she barfs, a lot. It's also called bingeing and purging. She's gotten a complex. Many people call her fat.
Anyhow... so she unloads all over my computer desk, since that is where she plants herself every morning to watch me scramble to get ready. The scene was a lot like this:
Chicken: Retch, retch. BARF. Retch.
Krista: (from bathroom) DAMMIT, CHICKEN (scrambles to get wad of napkins).
Chicken: BARF. Retch. Retch, retch. BARF (in new spot because the desk gets old).
Chicken: BARF. Barf. Retch, retch-retch-barf (again, somewhere new).
Krista: CHICKEN! (Scrambles to chase her OFF the desk. Grabs MORE napkins).
Krista: Chicken, I am BREAKING UP WITH YOU!
Chicken: BARF. Barf. Retch.
Chicken: (Take that, Bitch). Barf.
Krista: AAAAAAAAAGH! (403 napkins later, because Krista does NOT touch barf of any kind. And also because Chicken barfed in about 403 different places).
So I got home for lunch, and Chicken was happy as a lark. Rotten bulimic. She was all, "Meow-meow, pet me," and I'm like, "I'm SO SURE you barfed all over my apartment, and NOW you want love."
But I loved her anyway because she's precious. Bulimic, or not.