While The Boy was cooking me pancakes tonight, I heard the kittehs crying at him. Possibly because he was looking for a recipe and they knew what he needed: tuna, milk, cheese. Possibly because I’d asked them to go bite him and they were tattling on me. You see, I’ve been asking for pancakes for over a week and he hasn’t felt like making them.
Much like Congress, he had no better plan for dinner. But he didn’t like my idea. We had a kitchen shut down. But eventually we settled on spaghetti. And the next night we had salmon. And then chicken. And, and, and. But no pancakes. See how that’s done, Congress? Neither of us got the perfect meal, but we didn’t stop eating.
So this afternoon I marinated some chicken for tikka masala. I knew there was a chance it would wait until Thursday because sometimes we fend for ourselves on Tuesdays. And we have beer for dinner on Wednesday. So, when we decided to fend for ourselves tonight, I decided to be a big girl and make my own dang pancakes. And The Boy thought that pancakes sounded good.
“Obi, go bite The Boy for me.”
I was kidding, of course. I’m seriously not going to complain about anything The Boy cooks for me – considering I used to eat at Wendy’s four times a week to break up my meals at Taco Johns.
ANYWHO, the kittehs were talking at The Boy in the kitchen. Until I walked into the kitchen. Then there were two streaks of furry leaving the kitchen. I found them in the dining room, casually sitting under the table as if they’d been there all night. What were they up to?
I decided to clean litter boxes while dinner was cooking. Kitten Thunder followed me downstairs. On my way back up, they were sitting casually in the train room as if they’d been there all night. Obi was washing a paw. What were they up to?
A few minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen with The Boy. Two streaks of fur came up the stairs from the basement. The streaks diverged in front of us; one streak went left, into the dining room. One went right, into the hallway.
Dinner was ready.
We took our pancakes into the living room and found two kittehs laying under the coffee table. Casual. Like they’d been waiting there all along. Oliver scratched his ear. Not up to anything.