On Sundays, The Boy and I have salmon for dinner. And Kitten Thunder gets to lick the plates. It’s a nice tradition. Today, though, the shelves at Albertsons were bare due to shipments not arriving. I’m thinking the weather, not so bad here, was bad enough to close roads elsewhere.
So we have no milk.
And we got no salmon.
Instead, we had some tasty cow. The Boy used the grill – it was a balmy -8 degrees at the time – to cook the cow and romaine halves while I sauteed some yams inside. The kittehs were excited.
Obi kept getting up on the coffee table, at eye level with our plates on the TV trays. He is not allowed on the table during dinner. He knows this. But this knowledge did not keep him on the floor.
Oliver had a different plan. He waited patiently at our feet. He was actively NOT coveting the food, never looking up at us. On any other night, we’d have been pleased by this behavior and rewarded him.
But there was no reward for the grey kitten.
Steak juice makes Oliver explode.
And there was no reward for the brown kitten. Because he was bad…and because it would be wrong to give him steak juice in front of his brother.
We rinsed the plates the old fashioned way – in the sink – and put them in the dishwasher.
And Oliver settled for a snuggle.
Obi, inspired by the book he read last week, has written a kittaiku about the event:
Grey kitten eats beef
His stomach then rejects it
So brown kitten suffers