Friday, December 12, 2008
Gather round, kiddies, and Uncle Marius will tell you a tale of a feline idiot. His name is Starbuck, and he is 15 pounds of dumbass. Starbuck's hobbies are eating, sleeping, and eating things he shouldn't. Such things include string, thread, tinsel, shoe laces, and anything else that looks vaguely stringlike. As one might imagine, such things don't always agree with his digestive system, and he has been known to indulge in a little regurgitory self expression from time to time. Well, last week he was puking a lot more than usual, and when he did so twice in a few hours we decided to take him to the vet. An appointment was made, and the yowling beastie was crammed into his carrier to go have things stuck into, and taken out of him. Ninety minutes, and $160 later the vet said all seemed normal, but that we should give him anti-hairball meds. He did take a blood sample just to make sure there wasn't anything unseen, and we all went home.
Fast forward to yesterday. Mrs. Marius calls to say that our little genius had just yakked up a rubber band and what looked like wood or hay. I suggested investigating the CoA's room for anything unusual, but that search proved fruitless. I then postulated that, since he has been spending more time hiding in the closet and under our bed lately than a thirteen-year-old boy with his first Playboy perhaps there might be something in one of those places. Sure enough, there was a forgotten kid-sized broom under our bed that had been mostly eaten away. The broom disposed of, as befits such a tragic comedy, the vet called to say that the blood work was normal. As my wife put it so eloquently we spent $160 to find out he had a tummy ache.
The furry oaf is lucky he's so adorable, or he'd make a great hat.