The Fall of the House of CAT BARF

This morning there occurred an event so monumental, so astounding, so abysmal and so apocalyptic that I feel I must record it here - if for no reason other than to purge myself of the images, impressions, dare I say the abject horror of the experience. The aftermath has left me feeling somehow like Edgar Allan Poe so I am certain something must be done.

The Fall of the House of Cat Barf

Once upon a morning sunny, clean and calm (with nothing runny!), the early day when things

seem funny - even for no reason,

I was seated on the floor, just three feet from the bathroom door, where Stacey tried

to dress for work - for yes, it is that season.

My vocation however small, how minor or unimportant - was sorting socks

yes a triviality to be sure - but there's a great assortment.

A simple task, which I could master, near trinkets made of alabaster, all styled like cats

of different shapes - but no sign of disaster.

But nearby too - and at this thought, the terror erupts, bursts like a clot,

for with innocence there did gather; two cats (each one my lord and master) --

as I will now know evermore. My thoughts did drift from socks to clouds, of gossamer so light

(yet so like shrouds!) what next I heard filled me with fright -

but with no time to take to flight, or hide behind a door.

Suddenly there came a gurgle, a ripple and a babble, no chance to think or reach

or grab a towel with which to dabble, or even to shout out or screech -

A cat was sick, so horribly sick, right next to my seat on the floor!

Our carpet's crap, so that's no matter, so worn and stained, we all saw it

with but disdain - if that were it, I must explain - there'd be no need for my chatter.

Cat Number One was about to blow; a foot away (I moved so slow!), but the problem

as I just knew - was Cat Number Two.

The second cat, whom we've named Tex, has wide and sundry powers to vex -

but a foot from Harold (the barfer here), I could not reach - O Lord! O Dear!

Harold's head became a fountain, hot wet canned catfood he was spoutin'

I watched with horror as Tex moved in - all I could think was, "Please - nevermore".

For canned cat puke all know and hate, but Tex foresaw another fate, for him -

it all cried "Winner!" At the thought my face goes ashen, revulsion floods in with a passion -

But Tex, you see saw just one thing: "Ah! A second dinner!"

So while Harold, to my horror, barfs like a spout near bathroom door, Tex sticks his head

under the flow, a feast of friends (I'm still too slow!)

A cat's head that is clogged with barf, all wrapped up in it like a scarf will make you react

with a yell - this you all must know.

But such a shout, instead of erasing the truth of the scene which you're facing, is more likely to send both cats racing - with globs of barf in tow.

So barf still hot is now dispersed, the stench pervades and makes it worse, and somehow my hand's in the glop (O please, to make it stop!)

The aftermath, the shock may wane, but guts still wrench and minds disdain

cannot be lessened just with time - (or trying to dispel with rhyme)

I've cleaned the carpet, washed the floor, wiped down the wall, stripped the door

A wrecking ball (and nothing more) may be the true way to endure -

So your sympathies I do implore, and if my react seems quite poor

I'm crawling through my private hell, no opiate can cleanse that smell

Our next cat I shall name Lenore

Just that, and nothing more.