(no subject)

Rufus had an unhappy tummy last night. He was hiccuping and making those noises that cause pet-caretakers to think about moving their charges to a tile floor. He ended up spitting up on the floor, on the couch, and on our pants. We kept thinking he was done, and then, oops. At least he's so small he can't make *that* big a mess. I feel like it must be a little like taking care of a baby; simultaneously feeling both a sympathetic desire to comfort him and make him feel better and a frustrated annoyance at having to clean yet another spot with doggy-ick.

He slept in his crate last night because I really didn't want to wake up to a mess on me or the bed and he seems to be fine this morning. That's a relief!