Just wanted to let you know that the following was posted on my Tumblr page, where I am going to be posting from now on. Would love to see you over there!

This morning, in the midst of my hurried attempts to put myself together for work, I discovered yet another pile of cat puke. There’s been an ongoing issue with excessive puking, and of the last twenty or so piles, most of them ended up on the hardwood, and once in awhile on the bedroom carpet, which, while not exactly ideal, is better than on furniture or my white down comforter, which is where Suki chose to deposit this morning’s little surprise.

This one was a grand puke indeed, putting all others in recent memory to shame. Maybe it was the contrast of the bright, clean comforter than gave this one such a visual punch, or maybe it was the impressive manner in which the stain had spread outward from the tightly rolled hairball*, presumably the cause of the upchuck.

*a book called The Natural Cat: A Complete Guide for Finicky Owners, describes hairballs as a “small, wet hotdog,” an image that, if I weren’t already a vegetarian, would send me packing for the produce aisle.

So I’m just standing there, mouth agape at the most revolting piece of shit stain ever, thinking OMFG how am I going to get this out? Because I cannot possibly take this to the dry cleaners, they wouldn’t take something so soiled and disgusting or they’ll think I left the stain and oh the shame and before I know it I am going to town with a scrubby sponge soaked in OxyClean.

But it became painfully clear that the stain wasn’t going anywhere, except maybe soaking through to the other side and on to the white sheets below.  So, I acquiesced. Okay I’ll take it to the cleaners, but maybe I’ll lie and say I spilled coffee on it. Ugh, but the stain smells like bleach and stomach bile.  If they smell it, they’ll know I lied. And then they’ll assume that I stained it, and that I lied to cover my own embarrassment.  I could never show my face there again! I’ll be the social pariah of the dry cleaning world! Plus what if they need to know exactly what made the stain so they can treat it properly?

And before my brain could continue eating itself, I’d talked myself out of a ridiculously spun lie and placed a rather awkward phone call:

“Good morning, Parrot Dry Cleaning.”

“Um, hi, I have a weird question so bear with me. Um, is there anything that like, you guys won’t clean?” (I wondered what sort of horrifying things this lady imagined. Brain matter…explosive diarrhea…)

“Well…”

“Like, cat vomit? Would you guys clean that?”

“Well…”

“Because my cat threw up on my down comforter and I tried to clean it, so now it’s wet.”

“Yes, we’ll clean it.  Just tell the person at the counter when you drop it off.”

Moments later, at the cleaners, for the first time I had to wait in line. Luckily there was no one behind me, so I stayed close to the door, which looked like I was allowing the lady in front of me privacy to complete her transaction, but really I was just trying to hide my cat’s shame by staying out of view.

The clerk said, “you can just drop that on the counter.” 

“Oh,” I waved my hand, dismissing his suggestion. “it’s okay.” The last thing I wanted to do was to display my befouled comforter. Hi! Look at me and my big brown stain!

When it was my turn, I stepped up to the counter and blurted out “I’m really sorry this is so disgusting,” (which, hey, what a great way to begin a conversation!) “but my cat threw up on this. And I tried to get the stain out, but I think I made it worse.”

He glanced at the stain. “It’s okay, no problem at all.” God, he was so nice about it. “We’ll have to wet launder it, even though it says ‘dry clean only.’ The regular method just won’t get this stain out.”

Maybe this wasn’t the nastiest thing he’s ever seen in this business, but he didn’t even bat an eye.  And he even smiled.

Perhaps I still had a look of total humiliation on my face, because he added, “I have three cats, so I understand.” I instantly felt a little better.