Who doesn't love an unexpected gift?
Maybe it's a magnet that your buddy picked up in Mexico. Or a ceramic deviled-egg dish with a lid shaped like a hen. A mini notepad for jotting down ideas. A box of Crunch 'n' Munch for a shut-in. A horse calendar for an equine aficionado. A glass cake plate for an elder's china cabinet.
But sometimes, an unexpected gift is creepy. Like a dead bird propped up in praying position over the morning newspaper that an apartment neighbor steals each morning, reads, and returns.
I was the recipient of an unexpected gift this morning. My cats left it for me. It was not their usual present of a mouse butt. Nor even their most exotic token of affection, the severed squirrel head. No, this one was different.
I'm no stranger to the vomit clusters. They are sometimes evident on the garage floor if the other cats have not fought over them for a snack. Today's vomit clusters were not on the garage floor. They were on the windshield of my black Tahoe, just under the windshield wipers, on that little grid thingy that may suck in or blow out air. No re-gifting for these vomit clusters.
I am in a quandary as to how best dispose of my gift. I can't reach that far across the car to grab them. Not that I would, anyway. Even with rubber gloves. I can't poke them with a stick, because they'll break. No spearing or stabbing. I can't scoop them off with my long ice scraper, because they will crumble down into that air grid thingy.
Being late for my morning commute already, I chose to contemplate my choices while on the way to work. I figured my vomit clusters would be none the worse for wear after baking in the sun all day. Kind of like mud pancakes. Only fluffier. Nobody stole them while I was in school. They rode home while shedding nary a morsel of their regurgitated goodness. I parked them back in the garage. Short of a cat eating them overnight, I am no closer to a solution than I was this morning.