Thursday, July 19, 2007

Night Deposit

This morning I discovered that one of the cats had brought up the biggest hairball I have ever seen. Those of you with cats know that a hairball isn't really a ball. It's a sausage shaped wad of hair and other things its best not to speculate about. This one was fully four inches long and as big around as my thumb. But the most amazing thing about this hairball was not its size but its location. It was in the tub. Now, a cat will usually cross great distances while bringing up a hairball in order to deposit it on the rug, or in the main path of traffic, or in some hidden spot where it won't be discovered until it has formed an almost permanent bond with the floor. Not this one. It was left where it would not be trod on by an unsuspecting bare foot and where it would be easy to clean up. Makes a mother proud.
I first saw the hair ball out of the corner of my eye and through my clear, though definitely not crystal, shower curtain. The first thought that popped into my slightly sleepy brain was that it was a lizard or some kind of bug. This fancy was reinforced by the fact that the mesh drain cover had been popped out as if something had crawled up out of the pipe. They do say there are alligators in the New York sewers. I peered cautiously around the curtain and saw that it was in fact a hairball. I stared at it for some time, marveling at its size and placement. Then I took some toilet paper, scooped the thing up and tossed it in the toilet. I did not take a picture first. Possibly had I scored higher on the blogging addiction quiz I would have done so so you could all enjoy the sight. As it is, you will just have to picture it in your mind's eye.
Biggest. Hairball. Ever.

1 comment:

karen said...

So glad it was your tub and not mine! Pixie and I have been engaging in what I like to think of as the Petting Wars. Her objective is to sit on my lap and be pet. My objective is to brush her, at least to the point of only some shedding and not leaving discernible trails of fur as she walks confidently around the house. It goes like this:

Pixie "mieps" and jumps into my lap. I pet her for a few minutes, then start to brush her. She "mrrgrowps" in protest but acquiesces briefly in exchange for getting to rub her cheeks on the brush. About ten strokes into brushing (after 26 minutes of face rubbing), she stages an escape from my lap. She then takes up residence near by - either on my windowsill or on top of some files - and complains loudly about not being in my lap and being pet. After a few cool-down minutes, we do the whole thing again.

As this is a rather lengthy and somewhat tedious routine, I'm surprised we haven't got world-class hairballs here, too!