So not surprised...

I think I mentioned that I got to watch my cat barf yesterday.

It didn't appear to be hairball related, so I casually mentioned it to Pookie. He put on the blankest of dumb male looks and said, "Oh really?"

"Yes", I said. "I wonder what she had gotten into?"

He paused for a moment and then said, "Well, we had a little snack last night."

"Uh huh. And what was the snack?"

"Three - wait - four Doritos."

And he was all proud because she actually ate the chips instead of just licking the good stuff off the way she usually does.

For the past four years Pookie has taken great delight in corrupting my cat. She actually moved in with him before I did because I was spending most of my time at his place and felt bad at leaving her alone. This meant that they got to spend a lot of quality time together alone.

This also meant that I would often be greeted with the words, "Guess what Esme likes to eat?"

Like most men, Pookie seems to be lacking the part of his brain that links cause and effect, so he keeps on feeding her whatever comes to hand, even though it invariably makes her vomit. And he is completely impervious to nagging (much like a cat).

This all wouldn't be so bad if he was capable of cleaning up the results of his experimentations. But, unfortunately, my 6'2" 260 lb partner is a delicate blossom and blanches at the very thought. I have come home and been greeted with the words, "Your cat barfed" and then directed to the offending pile. I have also come home from an extended trip and been greeted with the words, "Your cat barfed" and then directed to the offending pile that was carefully covered by a bowl so as not to offend his delicate sensibilities while I was away.

But I will have my revenge. Esme also barfed a little on his sweater (that was left on the floor, of course).

I can hardly wait until he decides to wear it again.