Nothing makes my day like hearing the process of a hairball being expelled. Um, stepping on it later tops that, but my instant response to >hack!hack!hack!< is, “Where’s that damn cat now!? He better not be in the front room! Why don’t they ever have their accidents on the floor in the bathroom? Why is it always the front room carpet, with the deep pile? Why!? Why!? Why!?”
Yeah, Dougy hacked a hairball today. On the front room carpet. Right under my computer desk, where I found it with my bare foot. Erp!
The boys are on an indoor cat dry food diet that controls hairballs, and I brush them to reduce the amount of hair they might ingest while cleaning up. Andy never has them, as far as I can remember.
Dougy occasionally does. Of course, his fur is thicker, with a dense undercoat Andy managed not to inherit from his mother’s side of the family. And — dang cat! — Dougy is a hair eater! That’s right. If he sees a clump of hair on the carpet or if he takes out a mouthful of Andy’s hair when they have a spat, the little rascal eats it!
I always take it out of his mouth when I see him gagging down hair, but I’m sure what I stepped in today was, in part, what I saw him eating earlier this morning but wasn’t able to take away from him in time. It’s cleaned up now.