Last night I coughed up a hairball. I didn’t quite get the laugh riot effect of puss-n-boots in Shrek 2. Instead, my stomach was kind of hurt from all the yaking. Plus, I don’t think my cat slave was happy when she stepped on the slimy, furry, amalgam I left for on the tread of the last stair.
She didn’t realize that the placement was multi-purpose. Leaving the hairball in an obvious to location: (1) eased clean-up—no petrified hairball discovery in a few months (they can look suspiciously like dead mice), and (2) My slave is alerted that I am in need of brushing more often so my coat is more shiny, and (3) I get more cat treats since they have hairball preventative inside. Mmmmmm, cat treats.
So with one hairball I hit a trifecta.
Confucius cat say: Coughing up a hairball is like a bet in Las Vegas after an all-you-can-eat buffet. If the bet is well placed, it yields big dividends. If its not, your left with nothing but an aching tummy.