And on the third day, it rose again*

Some people get Easter eggs on Easter Sunday. Not me. At 4.30 this morning I received the gift of cat vomit on the bed. And to avoid it spattering the duvet any more, I managed to catch the second gust in my hand… I’m still trying to decide if that was a good thing or not. The bedding is drying on the line, and as soon as the launderette opens I will have to finally wash my duvet. I suppose, now that I’m letting Elgar sleep on the bed, I may have to get used to this kind of thing – he does like to have a good hurl once every three months or so – but ferchrissakes, even Kismet has managed not to puke on his person’s bed, and he’s the innernet’s most famous chunks blower.

* I know, I’m going to hell. **

** For anyone who didn’t get the reference; here I am, comparing what some people consider to be the most amazing moment in all of human history, the resurrection of Jesus that ensures eternal life for all who believe in him, to the contents of my cat’s stomach. I’m fairly sure that counts as blasphemy…

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