Bulk Bin

Bulk Bin (the cat formerly known as Yin-Yin).She waddles around reeking of rotten eggs, old cigarette butts, maybe a 3-day-old burrito stump.  Usually she carries a mildewed orange rind in her mouth, like HERE LOOK I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU AND IT IS MADE OF PLATINUM OBVIOUSLY.  She refuses her dry food and waits, until nightfall, when she can prowl the refuse of the city for moist, mushy, fat. 

And then she spends the early morning hours barfing in premium locations all over the house (multiple steps of the stairway, in front of the toilet, down the back of the couch, through all the cracks in stacked moving boxes).

Awhile ago, I began covering our trash can at nights.  A wise but ultimately ineffectual move.  Sometimes we let the cats outside to romp, especially if its been raining all day -- otherwise they get depressed and violent and start liking Dave Matthews Band.  So now, as I have learned by the varied visible contents of her barf, she is out cheating on us with other trashbins. 

"Bulk Bin" is the name of a "health" food store we used to shop at, until we realized "health" should include nutritional AND financial well-being (among other things).  Bulk Bin is a wealth-food store, and it is full of stuff that makes me vomit when I think about it: dairy-free goat cheese, bee pollen ice cream, vegan pate.

Before you accuse me of abusing my fat, fat, spoiled cat by allowing her to roam free outside, please know -- a treatment program is now in effect.  And the treatment program is this:  FUCK YOU, IDIOT HUMANS, NOW YOU WILL GIVE ME MY WET FOOD ALL THE TIME, OR ELSE I WILL BARF ON EVERYTHING YOU OWN.

She wins.