Thursday, February 11, 2010
Being sneaky is not easy. It takes a lot of training and practice to become the master of sneakiness. Some have a natural talent and can adapt to the art fast, others like me have squeaky shoes with no hopes of ever pulling off a fast one. A true master can pull off a dastardly deed and be out of the crime zone before the poor schmuck even knows he's been victimized. Sometimes, the master of sneakiness is so good, the squeaky shoes sit there in shock and awe, admiring the handy work so much it's hard to get mad at the fact we just got duped.
It's quite difficult to eat a meal at my house. The workout you get from protecting your dinner on multiple fronts is downright exhausting. Fork in one hand, knife in the other and leg splayed straight out with a foot in the cats' face all the while saying "my food, no, no, you are not getting any, no". The response I get back, a sad muffled meow emanating from the bottom of my foot, followed by the big round sad cow eyes and the sucking in of the furry little cheeks as if the overweight cretin is food deprived. I sit there and stare at the sad pathetic picture of a cat that is so lazy, he actually rolls down the stairs half the time.
As I turn back to my meal, I see ninja kitty flying up the stairs four at a time. Cretin and Contortionist take off after her presumably to see what the ruckus is all about. Joy overcomes me. I rub my hands together, take a deep breath and let it all out. A smile forms on my hamster cheeked face as I think aloud, "into the mouth and over the tongue, look at stomach, here it…" I glance down and notice my juicy, tender leg and thigh combo piece is missing. I stare at the grease smudged spot on my plate and think to myself, funny, I don't recall eating that. Did I shove that in my mouth during one of my frantic get as much food in as possible moments? Why am I still famished?
Yes, I was played. The pure talent they showed in this coup d'état demanded respect. How could I be mad? Being sneaky is not easy. So, with that, I picked up the chicken and headed back down the stairs, the cat parade closely following. I opened the back door and threw the chicken out. Mad? No, but if I can't have it, no one can.