…I come by all this honestly. Case in point: Tuesday morning I get a call at work from my mother, who was at my house attempting to pack her car and leave. “Beowulf ate four ounces of chocolate-covered malted milk balls, should I make him puke?”
“Yep. You know where the hydrogen peroxide is.”
It is important to note that my office mate, Bob, was on the phone during this conversation and did not hear it. A little while later, Mom called me back and I greeted her with “Did he puke all right?” which caused Bob to break down giggling uncontrollably.
“Yes,” quoth my fantastic, patient mother. “He threw up the malted milk balls, his breakfast, the wet cat food I gave him to help him puke, and his peanut butter toast. Then I had to pick the malted milk balls out of the pile while protecting it from Zille and Tink, who thought it was great I made Beowulf give them a snack.”
Best. Mother. Ever.
In other news, when I got home from work today, Noodlehead the Semi-Feral Kitty was waiting for me on the porch to tell me that the dry food dish was empty and furthermore, it was time for her wet food and why the hell was I being so slow in providing it? She will once again let me pet her, but we’re back to just gently stroking her back. She’ll come around, though. And I’ll have to figure out a way to get a panicky feral kitty inside somehow, because she still needs to be spayed. Meanwhile this weekend I’ll be sorting through the products of my various hobbies with intent to sell off a bunch of it to fund her spay and vax and, in my wildest dreams, perhaps a Feral Villa for her to live in. I suspect that’s asking too much, though, so I’m just hoping to put a big dent in her spay/vax costs.