Vile to Write About

Posted on September 27, 2003 in Cats Pulmonary

I record even that which is vile to think about.

A cough comes forth almost like the collapse of a rickety barn — not unexpected, but still surprising. The stuff that comes out — let’s just say that I never did like mustard and in the past week I think I’ve hawked up enough to draw a yellow line down the center of every hot dog sold at Dodger’s Stadium during the World Series. I can do without that seasoning.

Boadicea and and Fiona follow me in great concern every time I rush to the bathroom to spit the blobs out. Fiona has the air of a concerned nurse when she stands next me at the toilet. “Are you well, Daddy? Is your lung still in place? If it comes out, I promise only to lick it clean. I won’t eat it because I love you.” Such sweet eyes this one has, always graced with the slightest sympathetic sadness.

Boadicea shows a different variety of worry. She puts up a paw to show that it is time to be pet. I indulge her, even when the phlegm feels like a wave hitting the breakwater at Dana Point.