Mass chaos abound. And by "chaos," I mean "cat vomit."

So I was gone for a couple days this weekend. Apparently it was a couple days too many.

I religiously leave my cats plenty o' food when I'm gone for an extended period of time. Of course I don't want them to starve. After a weekend away, I generally return to a couple mostly empty food dishes, and a couple crabby cats. But they're never out of food.

Oh no, not this time. I returned home to chaos. Two empty food dishes, two spilled water dishes and a 17-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow tipped on its side, gaping open. (Hey, I never said my cats weren't smart. Leave it up to them to literally crawl into a 17-pound bag of food when I, apparently, neglect them).

Food was scattered on the kitchen floor. Wet paw prints tracked across the same floor. The litterbox, slightly askew. I had two pissed off kitties.

Meow. Meow-meow. Meeeeeow. Meeoooooooooooow. Meowwww. Grrrr. Booo, hiss. Devil's spawn.

Yeah, a lot like that. My cats = We hate Krista.

Fair enough, fair enough. OK, I deserve it. They had to scavenge for food. Straight out of the bag. I mean, Oh... my... God.

So I fed them. Immediately. I didn't pass go, didn't collect $200. Just poured food into the cat dishes. Except here's the problem with that. The cats are borderline bulimic. Or idiots. Either way. If they've gone any amount of time without food in their dishes (read: three minutes), the second food finds its way to their bowls, they eat it so fast you'd think they'd never eaten before. Or they'll never eat again. Or food was going out of style. Something.

And then comes the vomiting. Ohhh, do they vomit. And they vomit undigested, barely chewed food. They ate themselves ill.

So I'm carrying on with my morning when I hear it: the gluck-glucking of a wretching cat. It was Chicken. On my computer desk, barfing three feet to the floor below. So I chase her off the desk, grab a towel, and off she goes to the bed. My bed. Gluck-clucking. Oh no, cat. You are not going to spew forth your undigested food onto my down comforter. So, squealing, I chase her off the bed.

Until Harley starts in. Dangit. At least she has the decency to vomit on the floor, safely away from any valuables. So I begin to clean up her mess, and Chicken's still not done.

Dammit, animals, chew, breathe and then swallow.

So within four minutes, I've discarded half a bag of napkins, a towel and a blanket (which was thrown into the laundry basket). All dirtied with cat hurl. Mmmm.

I think they were teaching me a lesson. Ha, sucker, that'll teach you to make us dig in our own bag of food for salvation. OK, fine. I get it. I'm sure they're at home high-fiving each other for their fine display of barf pyrotechnics.

Alright, so they won. Dang cats.