100 percent less pukey

I’ve been asked by a couple of people how Jack’s doing since his copious-vomiting incident last week … or whenever it was.

See for yourself:

I persisted in giving him his antibiotics for two days, at which point it became clear that he didn’t need any medicine; he had just needed to barf up everything in his stomach and start all over. He’s totally fine and back to destroying any and all paper items he encounters, including this large and moderately expensive Christmas bag I had stored in my closet but removed briefly so I could retrieve something stored beneath it. One second I’m rooting through a musty cardboard box, and before I know it, I hear the startling explosion of a cat entering a giant paper sack at full speed, fast enough to bust through the bottom and attack the ragged edges, leaving spit-soaked paper shreds in his wake.

Right now he’s wrestling the shit out of Sally and she is making her bitchface at him as he bites her neck.

So, yeah. He’s good as new.