Stumbling downstairs in my 'day pyjamas' (yes, I get up and put on fresh pyjamas. I'm not a total slob, you know), wrangling Lumpy, who was attempting to fling himself out of my arms in a kamikazee dive for the floor, I clumped over to the French doors and dragged the curtains open, to let in the glory of the grey, dismal day, in all its grey dismality.
And then I trod right in a pile of cat sick. It took me a moment to realize that it was cat sick, as I stood there with it oozing between my toes (I was in bare feet, naturally. Of course I was.). Hmmm, I thought. That feels squishy. And a bit lumpy. But it isn't Lumpy. He's still in my arms (just). I wiggled my foot around to get a better sense of what it was in, and then I looked down. Yes, there it was. Barely digested cat biscuits. Now stuck between my toes and ground nicely into the carpet.
Well, it makes a change from baby sick, I suppose.
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