Projectile Vomit - The Feline Perspective

The animal element of the Renaissance Household would not be complete without Chance, the three-legged cat. He's a singularly needy and demanding creature, a trait we ascribe to kittenhood trauma exacerbated by a chronic stomach complaint. The other morning, more in need of companionship than usual, he came to visit the cottage, where Cass the Alsatian was snoozing while I worked. An hour or so later the telltale sounds of imminent gastric problems started. I picked up Chance and hurried towards the door. At this point two things conspired to bring on disaster. Cass took a sudden interest in my mission of mercy and got under my feet; Chance, always a clinging cat, decided that he was sticking to me and made with the claws. As I stumbled towards the stairs and swung round, the inevitable eruption took place, velocity increased by torque. Net result: direct hits on the carpet - three; direct hits on the kitchen wall - two; direct hits on my left sock - one. All neatly grouped into a tight impact pattern. Clearly USAF Bomber Command could learn a thing or two from Chance.