I have no idea what Tunch caught in the yard and ate, but if I had to guess it was a mole. Regardless, he decided to share it with me, without me having any say in the matter, as he climbed into my bed and vomited up what can only be described as thick, bloody, rotten viscous filth all over my comforter and sheets.
I’ve stopped dry heaving and think I finally have my gag reflex under control, showered, and changed the sheets, thrown Tunch into the basement, but I think we may have reached a new high (low?) for ways my pets have traumatized me. I was already up way later than I wanted because the Pens had to go into overtime before losing, so I read and waited until the 1 am showing of the Psych finale), I finally fall asleep, am blissfully spooning Lily, and then this.
I don’t know how you people deal with babies and their vomit and green poo, but it is stuff like this that makes me realize how lucky I am to be a bachelor. Except I really haven’t avoided anything, have I, since I just get dead decomposed animals on my bed rather than runny shits in the diaper?
You know when you were a kid and got car sick, and those glands underneath your tongue produced all the saliva and you had that metallic taste in your mouth and you kept swallowing it, hoping to keep from throwing up? That’s where I’ve been for the last fifteen minutes.