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Thursday, February 11, 2010

Funny, I Don’t Recall Eating That: or How to Get a Good Workout While Eating

    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 deal with the overweight food deprived cretin, the thin but well fed 7 pound contortionist slides in behind me, attempting to push me off my seat. I quickly stuff my cheeks full of food in the few chances I get. With a paw pushing in my back and my cheeks stuffed like a hamster I berate the thin but well fed 7 pound contortionist while holding back the overweight food deprived cretin with my foot. Tiny bits of food splay from my foaming mouth as I fight back with stinging words of threats they know I'll never keep. The paw pushes harder, the eyes grow wider. I put the fork and knife down and turn around to remove the ever pushing paw out of my back and give him the "give it up, you're not getting any" look while still holding back the cretin with my foot.

    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?

   The reality of the moment flooded me like gravy on mashed potatoes. I ran up the stairs like a starving dog drooling for lost food. As I reach the top, holding my chest and gasping for air, all I could do was stare at the horrifying scene played out in front of me. My chicken, all gnarled and chewed, was on the floor divvied up three ways.

Yes, I was played. The pure talent they showed in this coup d'├ętat 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.