Eating Cat Vomit

(The following is a true story of a prank gone badly, or good, depending on how you look it.)

I stood up from behind the dining room table with the cat vomit cupped in my hand. Mark watched. I pulled the vomit toward my face, sniffed it, opened my mouth, and took a …

Twenty minutes earlier …

Hack. Hack. Hack. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Bleck! Mark’s cat Napoleon vomited on the floor. This happens often. I suspect my friend’s cat is bulimic, although I’ve never witnessed his paw down his throat.

Anytime Mark’s cat vomited, he called for his dog. The dog would eat the vomit and lick the carpet clean.

I found this disgusting and worried about how Mark cleaned the cat pan. It was time to teach Mark a lesson. I would eat cat vomit.

I asked Mark if he had any coffee. He said none was made, but he could make a pot. I hoped that when Mark touched the warm coffee cup, Mother Nature would call and he would use the restroom.

It worked.

Mark went the restroom. I pretended to get more coffee and went to the kitchen.

I opened cabinet doors, the refrigerator, the pantry; I needed to make cat vomit. Then, there it was: chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. I grabbed a bowl, a spoon and smashed together the cake and ice cream. Another success. It looked like cat vomit. The texture and the chunks, everything except the smell.

I cupped the homemade cat vomit with a paper towel and held it in my hand. I went into the dining room and knelt down behind the table.

“Mark,” I yelled, “Your cat vomited again.”

Mark came out of the bathroom.

“Damn it,” Mark said.

I stood up from behind the dining room table with cat vomit cupped in my hand. Mark watched. I pulled the vomit toward my face, sniffed it, opened my mouth, and took a bite.

“OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?”

Mark ran out of the house.  He tore  the screen door off the hinges.

I fell to the floor laughing. I tried to reach the front door to let Mark know it was a prank, but I couldn’t. I was in pain. I clutched my stomach and crawled in a circle. I couldn’t breathe. I lost one contact lens and my cheek brushed against the piece of carpet Napoleon vomited on.

After ten minutes I could talk again. Marked yelled at me for twenty.

That was the last time Mark spoke to me, which really hampered my Tootsie Roll/Rice Krispie plan.