Watch out for Queen Jaffa

Tomorrow, we're hopping over the pond (and then another one. And then another one.), to Bombay to spend time with the mater and pater. It's only a quick fly-by visit, really, only just four days. But all the same, it's a break from work, and some time with the rents.

Which, of course, we're excited about. But at the same time, it's always saddening to leave Queen Jaffa alone at home. The spoilt brat, who has recently taken passionately to fat-free blueberry yoghurt, is quite a social kitty, and mires herself in petulance and sulking each time we leave for a few days.

So this time, we requested Jorge, the doorman, to stop in and feed her while we were out.
"Jorge, would you mind coming over every day and just giving her half a tin of catfood?"
"Sure thing!" he responded, "You know I love cats!"
"Thanks, man, you're the best." And I was just about to head off, when a thought suddenly struck me.
"Oh, and Jorge?"
"Yeah?"
"She's a bit of a sneaker-outer, so when you open the door, she'll likely run out between your legs. Just might want to watch out for that."
"Ha, ha, thanks for the heads up."
I turned to head home, and then suddenly remembered.
"Oh, and Jorge, she'll rollover and show you her belly, she does that with everyone. But don't assume she wants to be pet. Half the time she takes a taloned swipe at anyone scratching her belly."
"Ha, ha, thanks for the heads up!"
"No worries. Oh yeah, and one last thing. The other day, out of the blue, she threw up. No idea why. Just sitting there, and then suddenly, bwwaagh, vomit comet. You might want to watch out for that."

And I left a rather perturbed looking Jorge at the front desk as I headed upstairs to play with Queen Jaffa.