We have two furry cats. They're brother and sister. The male is orange and named Sundance. The other is Storm, and is a short, grey overweight female. She's tiny, but fat, and looks like a little furball. I'm not a fan of either cat, and they represent major compromises. The agreement was that I don't have to clean up after them. Of course, sometimes I have to when I'm the only one around, but generally, we try to ignore each other. Saturday was my birthday, but because one of my kids was gone, we decided to celebrate on Sunday. Nonetheless, I moped about all day Saturday, feeling like no one cared about my birthday. I can be pathetic like that. That night, I had trouble sleeping, so I got out a book I bought myself as a birthday present, and was reading in the living room at 2:00 AM. As I sat reading, Sundance walked into the middle of the living room and vomited a huge pile of regurgitated cat food. I thought, "Great. The perfect ending to the perfect day." And then Storm came over and ate the vomit.
I share this story because it isn't nearly as sickening as Zak and Iris today.