Monthly Archives: August 2013

Mama’s Home Cooking

This past weekend, The Boy and I were out of town at the same time since we returned from Europe in May. The Boy was at a train show in Evanston.

I was in Utah with my family riding this.

wicked

And this.

spider

 

And then I went back to Rock Springs to the county fair where I saw this.

balls

And saw Phil Vassar in concert with a beautiful desert sunset in the background.

Vassar

 

While we were having a great time, I worried about the kittehs. So, whilst my nephew and niece exchanged tokens for tickets at Chuck E. Cheese on Saturday, I sent a text to Lori, bestest kitteh-sitter in all the land.

Where the kittehs okay? Were they not too freaked out?

Nope.

Freaked.

Lori’s entrance into the house each day was met with apocalypse-sized drama. There was moaning and crying. Glares and pouting. I was very worried until we got home.

Oliver says that Lori exaggerates and that – other than that they hadn’t eaten for like TWO WEEKS while we were gone for three days – they were fine. I opened a can of food for them, even though it was midnight and the breakfast bell would be ringing waaaaay before any of us would like. Sometimes, a little home cooking – or Mama’s come home cooking – is all you need to soothe a troubled soul.

 

 

The Tango is Better Than the ChaCha

I posted pictures once of the breakfast dance – the way Kitten Thunder eats each morning. Oliver will take a couple bites of his food, then go to Obi’s plate, then back to his…lather, rinse and repeat until the food is gone. Obi runs from plate to plate, trying to get some food for himself.

I’ve tried to fix this for the brown kitten by putting them in different rooms, but Obi doesn’t like to eat that far away from his brother. And, since there is generally food left after breakfast I figure he’s getting his fill.

Yesterday, the plates were in the kitchen so I kicked them into the breakfast nook. They ended up right next to each other. I didn’t think about that at all while I scooped food onto both plates, threw the can away and turned to put the spoon back on the cat food shelf.

But then I turned around.

Oliver was sitting in the middle of the two plates, taking one bite from the left plate and then a bit from the right plate. Left right left right left right. Obi was sitting on the other side of the plates, looking at me pitifully.

I patted the brown kitten on the head and picked up him and a plate. I moved them three steps away. And all was well with the world.

The breakfast dance is a tango, not a cha cha.