Dietary Indiscretion

Yes, the Little Grey Shit was indiscrete on Thursday. I leave it up to you, the reader, to determine upon whose shoulders the blame resides.

When LGS was quarantined earlier this week, I moved all her necessities into the master bathroom with her. I didn’t want to have to run downstairs to the kitchen each time she required food or medication, so I put most of her medically-related goodies into one of those plastic shoeboxes you can get at any Dollar Store, including her pills, liquid meds, ointments, dietary supplements, oral syringes and treats for hiding the pills. This box then was stored on top of a plastic set of drawers that fits underneath the overhang of the vanity counter top in the bathroom. There is perhaps one inch worth of clearance between box top and vanity overhang, and the box itself stuck out for perhaps four inches beyond the edge of the vanity. I genuinely believed this set-up was cat-proof.

By describing this set-up in such detail (and by my choice of entry titles) I imagine I have telegraphed the next act of our little play. At some point in the earliest hours of Thursday morning, LGS pried the box out of its nook and knocked it to the floor. As with any other unlikely Rube Goldberg alignment of processes, the top of the box snapped off, scattering the contents of the box on the bathroom floor. LGS was not taken in by the potential play capacity of pill canisters or syringes. No, she opted to go straight for the bags of treats stored within. Did she select the already opened bag of treats as her target? Of course not. Disdaining used goods, she elected instead to gnaw her way through the brand new packet of Whisker Lickins Tender Moments Soft and Delicious Chicken Flavored Treats, managing to down about 2.5 of the 3 ounces of unwholesome goodness before I checked on her that morning.

She subsequently showed about as much interest in breakfast as potential employers have been showing in my resumes. It would probably also go without saying that she practically ran from her pill-embedded treats. I thanked my lucky stars that at least she hadn’t barfed the whole thing back up, and then took off to pick up my new kiln (about an 1 ½ hours’ drive from where I live).

I spent the rest of the day running errands, which included picking The Prof after he dropped his car off for repairs. As we drove home I told him what LGS had been up to, and he verified that he’d checked her before he left for work (three or so hours after I left the house) and there was still no sign of barf, though she remained uninterested in food.

At some time between when The Prof left for work and when we got home LGS finally found the energy to purge herself. Three massive pools of vomit were splattered across the bathroom floor, with a fourth even-more-massive pool right in front of the bathroom door, forcing you to step over it on the way in. That last pool must have been barfed up while she hung her head over the edge of the vanity top by the sink, because the splatter from it landed in comet-shaped streaks feet away from the actual impact crater. LGS was her usual bright happy self though, anxious for dinner and attention. I stuck what should have been her morning pills in two more treats with more than a little trepidation, but she scarfed them right up and then begged for more.

They say that “that which does not kill us makes us stronger”. I can only suppose LGS is stronger after all this. She may be the death of me though.