It's not a long story. And yes, it is father's day, but my father appreciates ridiculous stories of frustration as much as the next person.
There I am. I've decided to go to sleep after a long day running around and cleaning and organizing... and and and. Exhausted.
It's about midnight.
B is gone. He's at a conference. So, I'm alone. Obviously, me being alone is a good time for Frankie the brat cat to frick around.
I'm about 90% asleep. I hear the scritch scritch noise that Frankie makes when he climbs the ladder into the loft.
Is he there to sleep under the bed?
He's there to PUKE ON THE RUG 6" AWAY FROM WHERE I'M SLEEPING.
Now, obviously, if he had to puke (because of feeling sick) he'd have done it downstairs. Climbing the loft ladder is nothing you want to be doing when you're not feeling well.
So, this was a voluntary vomiting. Just to be a frickin screwball cat and seriously mess with me.
I've said before that this cat knows how to mess with me and push my buttons. Let us consider this a very good exhibit of what I was talking about.
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