I spent a significant portion of my childhood longing to be loved by cats. After a number of years of failed attempts, my dream has come true. They sit on my lap anytime I’m in front of the TV, even if I have food, and it’s usually ok. Except with pepperoni. I once made the mistake of letting Merlin have a tiny bit of pepperoni, and now anytime I eat it, he sits on the side of the chair and watches each piece I eat, looking sort of cross-eyed, occasionally licking his chops. It’s pitiful.
He was particularly pathetic the other night, so I started sharing with him. I would bite the majority of the piece of pepperoni, and then let him have the little tiny leftover. Simultaneously, I was absorbed in a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy. This was all going really well: got my favorite snack, great show, cat’s on my lap, and he’s behaving because I’m chain-feeding him processed meat product. Everyone is happy. For about half an hour.
Then he looked up at me, and then spit up on my lap. The rest was fast. I felt guilty for feeding him pepperoni, felt maternal toward the poor little booshey-boo, and felt him shifting in my lap, as he managed to hang his head over the chair and projectile vomit across the living room.
The cat is now just fine, but Hubby sits up, alarmed…ok we’re both alarmed, but we’re also trying not to hurt the cat’s feelings by laughing till our sides hurt. He pets Merlin and then stops short when he sees the mess.
“Holy crap, how much pepperoni did you FEED him?”