I was going to post a "this story contains poop" warning, but then I remembered that this is Permies and I've seen very robust threads on humanure, so just gonna tell the story.
I'll start by saying that no cats suffered any permanent damage. Pretty much, everyone turns out fine except me. Our alpha cat, Ducati, has a penchant for eating things he really oughtn't. Years before reusable bags became A Thing, I'd banned plastic grocery store bags from entering the house because Ducati would somehow use his extra cat senses to discover that one was in the house. Within 30 seconds, he'd be there munching on it. It was far easier to avoid the situation than to try to dissuade him; no matter where you hid them, he would find them!
One day I come home from work to find Ducati sitting, uncharacteristically, in the middle of the floor and looking very thoughtful. A Pooh-stuck-in-Rabbit's-hole kind of thoughtful. An I-probably-shouldn't-have-eaten-that thoughtful. I still had my mind wrapped around work, so I figured it was a Cat Thing and moved on about my business.
A few minutes later, there was unhappy yowling. And then a lot of racing noises of both cats Nascaring it down the hardwood floor of the hallway, skidding around corners. And Ducati is still yowling. I step out in the hall and see Ducati running back down the hall, but there's something apparently stuck to him and the kitten is chasing whatever it is that is stuck to him. Yowl is full bore and sounding frantic now, so I grabbed Ducati as he tries to make the corner and get past me. As I swoop him up, the kitten is now jumping up and swatting at whatever it is that's stuck to Ducati.
Correction. Whatever it is that's trailing from Ducati's butt.
Ducati's amazingly calm with any kind of health procedure (pills, trimming his nails, baths, whatever). He's quite trusting and usually just puts up with whatever you're doing, so, fortunately, he stopped yowling once I got hold of him and didn't fight me. Kitten still jumping and swatting at... Oh.
Apparently, Ducati ate some of my yarn. And now there's about six inches of poop-covered yarn, with a nice poop tassel on the end, that he's passed, but he apparently couldn't get the rest out. So I turn him around and start very gently and slowly (because if it's impacted, I want to be able to tell before I'm pulling intestines!) pulling yarn from the wrong end of my cat like he's the world's worst party favor. There's...quite a lot of it. Yards. He's not best pleased with this procedure and starts in again with the weird throaty yowling. And as I'm pulling, the kitten continues to jump up and try to grab it, because kitten. She's determined, she's fast, and in the end she's successful, grabbing a loop of crap-covered yarn. This is where things really went downhill.
I'm still in the hall. Kitten seizes on her excremental prize and starts racing away with it. And I really can't do much because the whole scenario has kind of overwhelmed my senses. Before I know it, she reaches the end of the slack and is now pulling more yarn from Ducati The Feline Yarn Ball at a frightening speed. The last bit releases (thankfully, no impaction or other intestinal damage and he was ok) and now she's blazing around the entire house with about five yards of Satan Brand Fecal Yarn trailing behind her. Ducati, now blessedly yarn-free, wants to know why I'm still holding him and starts the usual efforts that cats make to free themselves of unwanted human clutches. I'm bleeding, the house smells like a catbox, the alpha cat is pissed off, the kitten is now merrily playing with her prize on what was a clean kitchen floor, and there are suspicious brown smears all. over. everything. EVERYTHING.
At that point, my husband walks in the front door with a hearty, "Hi! So, how was the day?"
I don't remember anything after that.