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'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.

Interlude #5: It’s Never Good To Name Your Pet After Inappropriate Body Parts

  Yes, it's true, I once named a cat after an inappropriate body part.  No one could come up with a name and being the only female animal in the house I named her appropriately or so I thought.  One day at work my phone rang and a good friend of mine said she heard we had adopted a new kitten.  I told her yes and asked her if she wanted to see pictures of my Vagina.  The reply was quick, soft and to the point.  "I'm in the phone center, you're on speaker phone...and there are about 10 people in here."  I hid the rest of the day.  The cat was quickly renamed to Beijing in honor of the Olympics going on when we got her.

Who Ate The Bread?!

    When it comes to food, we all have are dislikes and likes. Some of us will eat anything and others are picky. We starve ourselves all day because nothing looks good or we gourd ourselves to the point of exploding because it all looks delicious. We make more decisions about food everyday than anything else, do we eat out or do we cook at home, do we eat healthy and light or go for some indulgence. Wouldn't it be nice to just find a plate of food magically in the same spot every day, always there and ready to eat? We would be in heaven. I've explained this over and over till I'm blue in the face but my cats just don't get it.

    I was surprised one day when going to make a sandwich. The back end of the wrapper had been ripped apart and the bread was all chewed and scratched. I tossed the bread in the trash and ate something else. An hour later, the bread was found on the floor, the wrapper ripped a little more, the bread chewed a lot more. A week later and a new loaf of bread was found lying on the kitchen floor. It was obviously, hunted down and attacked. It was mauled pretty bad and couldn't be saved so I put it to rest. I was starting to get flashbacks of the last time I had a cat who was obsessed with food. I was starting to sweat.


    Canned food has been banned from my house for a few years now. Thanks, to Rock and Bull back in the mid 90's and my aversion to constantly picking up trash that was thrown around the house. Those two were fed canned food every night between 5:30 and 6pm. If you missed the deadline, well, let's just say it wasn't a pretty site. It would start slowly. There would be a small crash as the kitchen trash would be knocked over. It was 6:01. There would be some rustling and crinkling as the trash started being removed from the can. It was 6:02. There would be the sound of feet running and cupboards opening, that would be me rushing to get the food out. It was 6:03.


    At 5:45 one evening I realized I was out of food. I jumped into some shoes, grabbed the car keys and sped off to the store like a mad, crazy person. I made my purchase and peeled off to home. With food in hand I swung open the front door and stepped in. The entire floor was covered in tiny little pieces of trash. The living room, the dining room and the hallway looked like a ticker tape parade had just caravanned right through. I could see no cats. I ventured down the hallway passing the bathroom. Ticker taped. The bedroom door stood before me, ajar. I pushed it all the way open and there sat two cats, both staring at me, on the bed in the middle of tiny little pieces of trash. It was 6:05. It wasn't that they just strung trash all over, it was the fact that they chewed it into tiny little pieces first. Canned food was now banned.


    The bread in my house is no longer left out. It has to be locked up and secured. For awhile, there were no senseless bread murders, that was until one grocery shopping day. I put down the first round of grocery bags on the kitchen floor and went to get the rest. One minute, that's all it took. With bags in hand I rounded into the kitchen. On the floor was a plastic grocery back. Sticking out of the plastic grocery back was a white, fuzzy butt. Flying past the white, fuzzy butt were little pieces of bread. One minute, that's all it took.


   With so many decisions we make on a daily basis, it would be nice to find a plate of food that just magically appears in the same spot every day. No more trying to figure out what to make or where to eat. It would just be there, the same thing every day, all year. Yes I would eat out of the trash too.