Burp

Ancient Roman Vomitorium

Men. Women. Vomitorium. In every tavern there should be three doors, with one of those words on those doors. No reason to disgust those of us who don’t over-imbibe, with the sickness of those who do.

Again this morning I heard the squeals of horror coming from the bedroom. I ran to the door and looked in. There was Mark running through the room screaming, holding Fat Kitty while she spewed her morning vittles across the floor. You have to be fast when the cat starts heaving. First you have to get her off the bed, away from the carpet, and then aim her towards a floor area that will be easy to clean. Next, you have to be faster than Chandler, who looks upon this as an opportunity to gorge on his favorite food, cat excretions. Moments after fighting off Chandler, and cleaning up Fat Kitty’s mess, I heard Mark scream again. Fat Kitty had one more morsel to expel, and she did it with panache. It shot out of her mouth, arced across the room, and landed conveniently, in front of Chandler. This time I didn’t fight him for it.

I know that the word vomitorium doesn’t actually refer to a room in which vomiting is done. It is a theater entrance/exit, but it is so descriptive of what the cats do in our bedroom, I think the dictionary people should consider amending the definition. The cats obviously look upon our bedroom as their personal puke palace, and will come in from the carpet-less living room just to hack up lunch, so why not vomitorium.

Vom-i-to-ri-um [vom-i-tawr-ee-uhm] (noun)
1. An entrance/exit under theater seats.
2. A room where bar patrons can disgorge their drinks to make room for more liquor.
3. Mark and Alan’s bedroom.