Today, Middle asks a question we'd all rather not have to face. (What The H?)

It's time again to hear from Middle Daughter, who weekly sends me things to post and then I never get around to posting them. Here, she shows why you would never want to visit her apartment without galoshes.

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Is this Throw up or is this Poop?

It is an innocent Tuesday evening and I have just arrived back home from a lovely day with hanging out with my mother (Sweetie) and my two little brothers (Mr. Bunches and Mr. F) and I walk in and I am greeted by none other than Stormy.

It had been raining on and off all day and so I knew that Stormy was NOT going to be in a good mood because, ironically enough, she is deathly afraid of storms. And when I say “deathly afraid” I mean “cowering in the corner yelping and crying for hours deathly afraid.”

I walk into my door and I see her in the corner, tail between her legs, and she starts yelling and crying. I thought “oh no, how long has she been crying like this?” I try to console her and it seems to be working, so I go about my merry way. I take off my sweater and I change into some more comfortable clothes and then I walk into my kitchen to get a glass of water. I notice that her food dish is almost empty so I go and get her food and I add some more to her food dish because I know that if she can see the bottom of her food dish she is not a happy camper.

After I fill her food dish and get my glass of water and I head over to my living room to turn on some television. As I sit down I saw that I forgotten to turn my kitchen light off so I get up and go and turn it off.

I turned off the light and I walked out of the kitchen and started heading back into the living room as I was walking out of the room I stepped on something. It was not carpet. It was not tile. It was warm and it was wet. I looked down and I saw that it was either poop. Or it was throw up.

I didn’t move my foot and I looked at Stormy.

“Stormy, is this poop or is this throw up?” I asked her.

Of course she didn’t answer but I knew that it was one or the other.

I turned on the light and saw that it was……throw up. And to my surprise I was relieved.

Come on, Norm*, keep it in your stomach!

I guess that is the price you pay for owning a cat that has a sensitive stomach.

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*Note: It's not a typo. She calls her cat, whose name is Stormy, "Norm."