Don't cry at the beginning of a date. Cry at the end, like I do.

So my beloved cat Pook is, well, how can I most lovingly put it?

She is advanced in age.  

I love this cat.  I have many stories about this cat.  You will hear much about this cat.  I have had her for at least 16 years.  I can’t think of life without this cat.

One of my all-time favorite stories of Pook happened very early on in my relationship with my now Husband.

I need to set the stage for you.

At the time, Husband knew nothing of cats.  Or of any pets, really. 

Nothing. 

A true cat neophyte.

He’s from Guyana.  Animals of any kind were not allowed in the house.

So I think he thought having a cat wouldn’t be any additional interaction than say, having a goldfish.  You put the food out, and hope not to have to walk its scaled corpse to the toilet anytime soon.  Or maybe he thought fairies would take the body away?  It was that bad.

Anyways...

Pook loves to eat.  Back in the day, she would get quite impatient in the mornings if she faced an empty dish.  It was very common to wake up with all 16 pounds of her sitting on your neck, breathing down some god awful stench of yesterday’s cream of synthetic oyster cat food puck. 

She would implore you with her big green weepy eyes, pleading for you to get up and feed her NOW. 

Typically she did this to me.  However, once she tried this on poor unsuspecting Husband, she had found her patsy, her divine cat food puck delivering mule, and she was hooked.  He was an easy mark.

Usually, Husband was very alarmed to wake up to Pook sitting on his air pipe & hovering over him.  It creeped him out.  He would spring from the bed, mumble something about staying at his place, and head to the kitchen to appease her.

Works for me.

Well, one very early fall morning, when the bedroom was still dark, hungry Pook mounted Husband’s chest for a feline stare down until he woke.

However, this time, Husband was in a post coital coma and didn’t notice her at all. 

I was also sleeping quite peacefully on my side - until I felt it. 

The blanket started rhythmically tugging behind me.

And there were noises.

Strange grunting-like noises.

I was instantly annoyed and thought ‘Seriously??’ 

‘Please, this can’t be happening.  What kind of libido does this guy have?’

What do I do now?  

I’m too tired to deal. I began to run through scenarios in my head that would ensure an all hands off penile cease fire.

But before I had to decide a course of action, I clearly heard it.

The gagging.

The retching.

OH GAWD…

The telltale sounds of hairball regurgitation.

I flew over to look, and sure enough, there Pook was, centered atop Husband’s upper chest, lurching forward in uncontrollable spasms. 

Back and forth, back and forth, she heaved.

And Husband was out cold, his mouth wide open, like a receptacle waiting to be filled.

Holy hell.

I was initially frozen in horror.

Something snapped me out of it and I started shrieking “WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  GET HER OFF THE BED!! GET HER OFF THE BED!!  WAKE THE HELL UP AND GET HER OFF THE BED!!!”

Husband was confused…disoriented…blind without his glasses…

“Huh??  Whaaaaa??”

Get who off the bed?

I kept shrieking but Husband wasn’t moving.  Perhaps I was at a pitch only dogs could hear.  Note to self: take it down an octave.

This called for physical action.  I tried to swoop in with my best Wonder Woman moves, but I was initially caught up in the sheets.

There!  I was now completely turned over and I had managed to flick on the light.

Nevertheless, I’d lost precious time & Pook had gained vomit momentum.

Finally, Husband fully opened his eyes to panic stricken Pook lurching in and out of his sightline.  The fuzzy view had to have been like having one of those gophers from the Whack-A-Mole game go up & down four inches from your face.

Jesus, how blind is this guy without his glasses?  Can’t he see what is going on?

Nope.

Cat Neophyte had ZERO clues as to what was happening. He still just lay there.

Dude!  Help me, Help YOU!  Help me, Help YOU!

I tried to grab the cat and toss her off the bed.  But, if any of you have ever tried to relocate a cat in the midst of hairball surge, you know they also suddenly have superhero-like feline moves.

It was going to be a head to head battle.

Pook dropped low to the bed and braced herself.  She locked legs and form.  She dug her claws as deeply into the duvet and Husband as she could.

Husband screamed out in shock and pain.

Oh gawd, why won’t he close his mouth??

Close your mouth!  Close your mouth!

The lurching didn’t miss a beat and increased with urgency.

This isn’t good.

This really isn’t good.

I repositioned myself and attempted to remove her again.

No way.  She wants to finish.  She wants it bad.

Holy hell.  I just know the final heave is on its way.

But then I had her. 

With everything I could give, I yanked the blankets right off the bed, and with them, she went sprawling to the floor.  The lurching ceased and she powered off in another direction.

Husband sat up and looked at me sternly & in complete disbelief – a look like I had somehow caused all this middle-of-the-night cat drama.

I was crushed. 

Didn’t he understand I had just SAVED him from certain trans-oral hairball ingestion trauma?  He would have surely choked to death.   

He still didn’t get it.

“She was bringing up a hairball” I meekly and breathlessly said.

Highly irritated, but otherwise unfazed & unimpressed, he pulled the blankets up, rolled over and demanded the light back off.  Last I heard, he was again mumbling something about his place.

We slept for a few hours and by daylight I was ridden with regret that I didn’t just let Pook keep on going till Husband had dealt with her one way or another himself.

And I told him so. 

Imagine that one, but he clearly didn’t think it was any big deal.

A couple months later we had moved into a new condo together.  I was away on business. 

I called Husband to check in and swap about our days when he abruptly stopped the conversation and blurted “OH MY GOD, there is something wrong with the CAT!!”

I was like “Whaaaat?? Poook??  Whaaaat, WHAT??”

My fur baby!

He screamed in horror “SHE IS MAKING AN AWFUL NOISE AND GOING BACK AND FORTH ON THE FLOOR!!! OH MY GOD!  What is WRONG with her??  What do I DO??”

I relaxed and dryly said “oh, that’s just a hairball”.

Husband blared through the phone, his voice cracking like a prepubescent teen, “A HAIRBALL??”

“A HAIRBALL????”

He still needed confirmation.

“Yup” I said.

He went silent and I could hear him holding his breath.  He was still.

Suddenly, he made a kind of guttural groan out of what I assume was shock, and I knew the perfectly formed cylinder of wet packed fur and food particles had just launched out of Pook like a dart out of one of those Nerf guns.

Husband’s first hairball.

Husband was silent.  By now, it was surely oozing on the floor.

Then, it was like I could hear the rows of stadium lights snap on as his mental connections were being made…

Pook had been on his chest.

His mouth had been open.

The cat almost...

Wife saved Husband.

And I knew, now he gets it. 

I let it sink in but then, just as casually as he had rolled over that night, I said “Umm honey??  You still there??  Husband??  You know, you’re gonna have to clean that up before it stains the floor, right??  Love you!!”

© Christy Pieroway and "Am I Blogging Nuts? Don't Answer That." cpieroway.blogspot.ca, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christy Pieroway and "Am I Blogging Nuts?  Don't Answer That." cpieroway.blogspot.ca with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.