My cat, Sybil, has sensitive skin. From time to time, she breaks out in an unattractive rash around her ears or collar-line. Recently we had to take her to the V-E-T to have these bumps checked, because they looked quite annoying and painful.
After chastising me for the 43rd time to get my cat's teeth cleaned (a $150 procedure which involves sedation - no thanks, she can have tartar), the V-E-T informed me that Sybil's bumps were actually infected and would require a cortizone shot and twice-a-day, icky, pink, liquid antibiotic to be administered, of course, by me, since my husband gets to run off all day to that la-la land we like to call a "job."
Sybil was pensive on the ride home, no doubt nursing her shot wound and planning her counterattack. Sure enough, within three hours of arriving back at her rat hole, she had peed on the futon. We countered with a non-response, understanding her pain. The next day, she effortlessly switched gears and began waiting until after I had stuffed her with pink stuff and returned downstairs to feed the little angel before puking in not one, not two but three gridded areas of the carpeting. Mind you, over half my house has oh-so-easy-to-clean hard-wood floors. This exercise has been repeated with the EXACT SAME GRID AREAS PUKED UPON for the past two days. Today as I approached Grid Area One, I saw her sitting on the sink smirking, with her little kitty eyes saying: "Bring It, Mommy. I was here first."