HAIRBALL FORMULA, MY ASS
I would like to briefly touch upon the topic of Cat Puke. Because it is all very well and fine to go out and purchase the special hairball formula of what-is-already-grossly-overpriced cat food for the cats, in the hopes that one might be rewarded with getting to spend less time handling and disposing of what is inevitably bound to be either (1) a warm and squishy suspicious-looking tube-like thingy (provided that the hairball has been horked up in your presence and is still quite fresh); or (2) a cold and squishy suspicious-looking tube-like thingy (horked up for you to stumble upon — sometimes literally, and always when your shoes are off — after coming home from a long day at work). Regardless of temperature, the Found Object that is the Cat Hairball is, at best, mildly off-putting. The hairball formula cat food seemed like a splendid solution. Particularly since most standard hairball remedies all require wrestling down a usually unavailable and pissed-off cat, then squirting the hairball remedy into said cat’s clenched-shut mouth with a medicine dropper, much in the same way that you would have to administer an antibiotic regime . . . not to mention the fact that all the hairball remedies seem to come in bizarre and inappropriate flavors such Carob. Or Bubble Gum. I mean, please. It defies all logic. It’s like the human equivalent of Liver-Flavored Kaopectate or Tuna-Juice Ice Cream. Some things are just Plain Wrong.
Here’s the thing, though. The cats seem to love the hairball formula cat food. In fact, they love it so much that they Hoover it right down with much noisy grunting and crunching. In fact, they love it so much and Hoover it down so quickly that they inevitably end up throwing up because they ate too fast. Exactly what, I would like to know, is the point of getting hairball formula cat food if the cats end up blowing chunks all hither and yon in a matter of minutes after having eaten it? The hairballs, at least, are somewhat self-contained, unlike outright puke, which goes everywhere all willy-nilly in sheer anarchy. And I don’t know . . . the vegetable fiber that’s supposed to miraculously prevent the hairballs also seems to miraculously lube up the cat innards, thus rendering a sort of a rocket-launched, projectile style of barfing.
And since we’re on the topic, have you ever noticed that each cat has its own distinct style of regurgitation? There’s the Wide Radius Dribbler, for example — wherein a little bit of preliminary spit-up is deposited here, some more preliminary spit-up a few feet to the left, then maybe a teaspoon of puke here, and another teaspoon over there, etc. Or then there’s the Aerial Drop — involving perching on the edge of a counter or table (but most preferably a mantel, if available) and matter-of-factly dropping a load of vomit on the floor from a height. (The vomit hits the floor in a cacophonous splatter, and the cat can admire its handiwork from above.) The absolute worst, though, is the Hot Lunch Program — which hinges on the philosophy that one cat’s puke is another cat’s Tasty Soft Food Treat. (And by all indications, it’s apparently best to get it while it’s still fresh off the griddle . . . hence the name Hot Lunch Program).