How Can One Small Animal Wreak Such Havoc With Her Nose?

 You would never know it to look at my cat, but she has a superpower.

My cat has SNOT OF STEEL.

She sneezes, on average, about ninety-eight times a day, in groupings of eight to ten sneezes at a time. This is due to a virus she somehow got infected with, and according to the veterinarian is a lifelong chronic condition. There is a medicine that can be prescribed for it, but it will greatly diminish the quality of her life, reducing her to a foggy-brained fat lump of cat. Or so he told me.

So I skipped the medicine, deciding to put up with the sneezes, and by default, the snot that comes with them. Now it's eight years later and she's still sneezing.

She's also a  fat lump of cat. So I'm not sure what the benefit was in my sparing her all that in order for her to have a non-foggy brain. But as usual, I digress.

This virus (possibly transmitted by radioactive spider) forms mucus with the texture of cement, able to mortar bricks together, stick to walls and resist anything other than a chisel or blowtorch for its removal. It can attach to upholstery and defy all efforts by Stanley Steemer (despite their excellent reputation) to take it off. It can ruin homework, splatter snacks, fly across the room at astonishing speed and land web-like on your head like some sort of space alien at three a.m., convincing you that you've been face-impregnated and some hideous creature will be bursting out of you into your oatmeal come morning. 

Provided, of course, that the cat doesn't jump in the windowsill and spray your oatmeal with a fine mucus mist guaranteed to cement your bowl to the table if you jump away in disgust and leave it sitting for longer than ninety seconds. 

Her first sneeze or two is greeted with a "Bless You!" from my son, which then evolves into, "Oh my goodness!" and then into "Mom! She's still sneezing!" and finally "Cat! Get a life!" followed by much laughter and me racing to wipe up the nasal nastiness with paper towel and extra strength Lysol cleaning product before the air hardens it into titanium sludge with a crusty, diamond-hard surface of dull green-ish brown.

Once, some splashback got her in the face and stuck above her eye, looking like some bizarre, thickened unibrow. I couldn't remove it without taking a chunk of fur with it (and that was tempting, believe me. Freaking sneezing cat...) so we let it wear away naturally, assuming her daily baths would take care of it. She looked like Groucho Marx for nearly two months. 

But at least her brain isn't foggy. Which will come in handy as she plots total world domination. Having nuclear loogies will certainly aid in her plan.

Her diabolical plan.

Dear God. My cat is a super villain. A super-snot super villain.

Codename: Snotsy Galore

 

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

 

 

 

 

 

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