The Reflexes of a Cat-owner

One may often hear people speak of the reflexes of a cat. But not many refer to the reflexes of a cat-owner. They can often be as swift, indeed, instantaneous, as those of the feline. They are not always swift enough, but they usually run a close second.

Last night, I was asleep, probably dreaming, as I usually do, when I was woken by the unmistakable sound of a cat about to vomit. Strangely (or not), I recognised the peculiar version of the sound that belongs to Tucker. He and Renn were, as is normal, on the bed, so I seized Tucker and, knowing his regurgitive habits, realised that I had no time to take him to the uncarpetted bathroom. Nor did I have sufficient time to grab one of the ‘half-boxes’ that cat-food tins come in and that are kept, one in each room, for such emergencies. So I held the poor roly poly, suspended in the air, over where I figured would be the varnished wooden steps at the foot of the bed. Hoping he was placed so that he avoided any fold of the comforter, I heard him do what he had to.

When I had leisure to turn on a light, I saw that my aim – and the Tuxter’s – had been true, and that the small amount of hairball-induced puke had landed on the easily-cleaned steps.

But, like a bad horror movie that provides one climax too many, the scene was not finished. Renn, out of sympathetic heaving or mere coincidence, announced that he too was about to upchuck. He allows me a minute amount of time more than does Tucker (not a minute; the amount is too minute for that), so I was able to grab the half-box and slip it under his out-flow spout before he let loose. I then moved him to the bathroom in case he was not completed his ejectory activities.

I don’t always achieve such a victory over the wretched forces of wretching, certainly not a double play, or what a gentleman shooting in the country would call a right-and-left. It was a red-letter night that only a cat-owner could appreciate and celebrate. Years ago, I wouldn’t have been so rapid in my response because, though younger, I was not as practiced. In years to come, my experience will be dulled by age. I fancy then that I am at the peak of my cat-owner reflexion, to be measured by an unsullied bedspread and a box full of stomach contents.