Picture the scene. A darkened bedroom. It’s not too hard to picture because, well, it’s dark. Imagine a dark room in which you have an awareness of where all the major pieces of furniture are so you don’t, say, walk into the end of the bed like an idiot but will stub your toe on any boxes that are poking out from underneath.
That’s kind of the scene you need to picture.
For completeness, imagine it’s 11.30 at night and you’re on your way to bed clutching your mobile phone and – for some reason – your Kindle (even though you’re going to a dark room to sleep).
Imagine that you’re walking around your side of the bed when your foot – the left, if you want to be specific about these things – comes into contact with something on the floor. Something cold on the floor.
Now, as this is our bedroom all bets are off as to what this may or may not be on the floor. There are often, for reasons I will never understand, random coins scattered about the place. A foot, the left, on a coin could recreate the sensation of cold that was felt.
It wasn’t a coin, though.
It was a pile of cat sick with a monumental hair ball in it.
And I had walked through it in a moment which was quite reminiscent of when Victor Meldrew goes to put his slippers on and slips his foot into a decomposing hedgehog which has somehow found its way into the bedroom.
One of the curious things about cat sick – and one Carole enjoyed pointing out to me this morning – is that even though it’s sick, it doesn’t really smell. And it doesn’t. It also doesn’t coat the underside of your foot either. Which is nice, but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to want to splash through puddles of the stuff like a child kicking through a pile of leaves.
There was also a massive pile of sick on the bed – which was lovely. Absolutely lovely. I had to ferry it from the bedroom to the bathroom, gipping all the way, while Carole sat up in bed, offered to help and then fell immediately back to sleep again. I mean, I suppose I have to count my blessings that I trod in the sick that I did tread in, otherwise we would have gone to bed completely oblivious to the fact that there was the majority of the inside of a cat bouncing around at the bottom of the duvet.
Having said all that, I can’t deny that it did add an element of tension to proceedings when Peppa climbed under the duvet to go to sleep…