Saturday, January 24, 2009
Stimpy makes her mark
In the wee small hours of the morning, I was at my computer. An ominous noise behind me made me turn. Stimpy, tongue stuck halfway out of her head, was retching. Before I could get her off the sofa onto the nice wipe-clean wooden floor, she threw up.
Damn, I thought, surveying the damage done to the sofa. I should have been quicker.
Stimpy started retching again. I grabbed hold of her and tried to sweep her off the sofa, but for some reason she dug her claws in and, at the last second, lunged forward and managed to send her second load of vomit into the mum's handbag. I didn't really know if this was better or worse.
Damn, I thought, surveying the damage done to the sofa. I should have been quicker.
Stimpy started retching again. I grabbed hold of her and tried to sweep her off the sofa, but for some reason she dug her claws in and, at the last second, lunged forward and managed to send her second load of vomit into the mum's handbag. I didn't really know if this was better or worse.
