They didn't believe me . . .

but the proof is in the pudding. Or, rather, in the puddle of kitty vomit.
Last week I had a strange experience. I woke up in the small wee hours of the morning to a strange sound. It was sort of a "purr, nom, nom, purr, gag!" sound. It was coming from my nightstand.
It was coming from Ngaio, who was making a snack out of my cellphone accessory.
Nobody I told this to believed me. Everybody said that she probably just carried it off and hid it somewhere, under a dresser or in the back of the closet. But I knew the disturbing truth; my cat is fueled by snakes and snails and puppy dog tails and plastic and metal and non-organic substances not meant for kitty consumption. Oh, just to be sure, I searched all over the house. I checked under the yo and in the pillow cases and behind the furniture. I found where she'd ripped apart her feather toy, leaving everything nearby stained with cheap dye. I discovered the spot on the wallpaper she's been using for a scratching post (since she blatantly rejected the very nice one I bought for her in favor of my good buckwheat pillow, curtains, and sofa.) But there was no cellphone accessory anywhere.
Well, I finally found it ~ in the form of half-digested puddles of barely identifiable goo in the middle of my living room. She had eaten my cell phone accessory all right, and held it in her gut for nearly a week as she anticipated just the right moment to upchuck it all over the newly cleaned floor. She had also eaten a rubber band and a piece of chain from the necklace. But the weird thing is, I'm not missing any jewelry and I don't keep rubber bands in the house (ironically because I was afraid she'd eat them.) Is her gut the end point of some intergalactic wormhole? Does she have evil powers that allow her to slip into other apartments and eat their stuff? Can she conjure it out of nowhere?