Now, clearly this isn’t the classiest post title I’ve ever come up with in my life, but let it be a warning to you folks: if you have “problems” with vomit (you know, like I DO), you’re going to want to skip this one…

So Rubin was ill over the weekend. I could tell on Saturday morning that Something Was Up, because he didn’t freak the hell out to quite the same extent as he normally does when the post arrived in the morning. Like, normally he reaches Excitement Level 10, but he only got to about a 9.5.

“Something is wrong with Rubin,” I told Terry and my parents, who we were visiting that night. “He is ill, is probably dying. Either that or is faking it for sympathy.”

“Pish!” said my peeps. “Is fine. YOU are one who is faking it. Rubin in rude health. Lookit him being all healthy!”

But I knew I was right, and so when he suddenly and extravagantly threw up the next day, all over his bed, I was not at all surprised, and I would have phoned my dad to say “I told you so!” if I hadn’t been too busy gagging at the time. Dad, if you’re reading this, though: I TOLD YOU SO.

Anyway, we washed Rubin’s bed (by “we”, I obviously mean “Terry”, by the way),  and gave him an old towel to lie on while it dried, because, well, if he’d been sick once, chances were he would be sick again, and sure enough, not an hour later, that old towel was also making its way through a spin cycle, and Terry was once more down on his hands and knees, scrubbing vomit from the floors.

I, meanwhile, took Rubin out into the garden. You know, just in case. He issued out of the back door with all guns blazing, and proceeded to bark enthusiastically and hysterically at the imaginary postwoman who lives at our back gate, so I assumed he was feeling better. “Is better,” I told myself. “Whatever he’d eaten that didn’t agree with him, it has gone. He is fine now.”

And this was how I came to make my fatal mistake – bringing Rubin back upstairs and settling him down on my knee. ON MY KNEE. My knee, from which, Rubin was perfectly placed to vomit copiously ALL DOWN MY LEG twenty minutes later. GOD.

As this happened, I made my second fatal mistake: lifting him from my knee while he was in mid-vomit. Because my chair was right next to the open doorway of the room. The open doorway which Rubin soon filled with vomit, leaving me trapped in a small room with vomit down my leg and more of it barring my exit.


(I hope you weren’t eating while you were reading this by the way.)

And that was how we spent our Sunday. Rubin is absolutely fine now, so we reckon he must have eaten something, probably while he was outside, ferreting around in the grass. We’re keeping a really close eye on him, needless to say, and are making a tremendous fuss of him, which he has been thoroughly enjoying.

As relaxing Sunday afternoons go, though… well, let’s just say we’ve had better.

  1. I know I shouldn't laugh…

    I feel your pain though. One of our cats is sick a lot – he's not unwell, he just scarfs his food down too quickly and then regurgitates. It would be bad enough, but I go around barefoot…

    1. Oh, Rubin is exactly the same – at least once per day he'll start making noises like he's choking to death, and it'll be because he's been trying to inhale his dinner. And if we give him a dog chew we have to stand over him while he eats it or he'll try to swallow it whole. You'd think some instinct would tell them "NO!" but apparently not…

  2. I've got enough animals and children to have had pretty much everything expelled on me at some stage – one memorable morning when I was sitting up in bed showing my cat some loves he decided to return the affection my lifting his tail and spraying all over my nekkid chest!

  3. my poor old cat is sick all the time, it doesn't help that you have to be like, *really* quick in clearing it up, otherwise the dog eats it. Yes my dog is grosser than yours!

    1. Oh no he's not! First thing Rubin tried to do after he threw up? Eat it. Yes. Although, I guess that's a little different from trying to eat someone else's vomit. OK, you win 🙂

  4. I was eating rice pudding but really, my fault, you warned us fairly.

    My Maltese, Billy, ate a slug once while we were outside. He barfed and also had some issues at the other end. Yet he still tries to eat slugs. Hmm.

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