Thou Shalt Not Covet

The kittehs are not allowed to covet our food at dinner time. Usually it is the grey kitten who gets scolded for bad behavior, but The Boy painted stairwells this afternoon and Oliver can’t get down to the living room without passing the dread blue wall.

It is different, thus evil.

So Obi was left alone with his people for dinner.

Not coveting…

Okay, coveting a little…

No, not coveting…

When my phone buzzed, Obi suggested that I ask the grandperson if he should be allowed to have more than the four little bites of pork I gave him. Especially since I was done – he isn’t allowed on the coffee table when we are eating.  The Boy pointed out that one of his grandpeople might say yes but the other would say he’d already had four bites too many. 

Hmm.

The Boy relieved Obi of the struggle against coveting by putting our leftovers away. And the brown kitten went back to Smell-o-vision.

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Anime cooking

I went in for my annual eye exam this afternoon. Nothing spectacular there – I’m blind, contacts fix it. But, as always, they dilated my eyes. Six hours later I still look like an anime character with the huge pupils and just a sliver of yellow iris around them.

My normal routine for such a day is to make myself cozy on the couch and try to convince someone to give me Purr Therapy. Therapy, I should point out, does not HAVE to be applied directly to the impacted area. So Oliver, Obi and I caught up on all the television waiting for me on OnDemand. Because my doctor saw me quickly, my eyes were not fully dilated until I arrived home so my TV became more blurry as the show went on. But then it got less fuzzy. The computer screen right now? Very fuzzy.

Also welcoming me home after my appointment, besides the kittehs, was the smell of pork cooking in the crock pot. Cranberry pork. Mmmmmm. So while I was laying on the couch, I was also contemplating the sweet potato on the counter and how well it would go with the cranberry pork. Cranberry pork. Mmmmmm. So, after confirming the fabulousness of this flavor combination with The Boy, I ventured into the kitchen to prepare it.

Obi was NOT happy. He cried. He paced. He reached for the steak knife I’d picked out of the drawer for slicing the sweet potato. He evidently thinks that The Girl should be able to see in order to cook. Other than picking a way wrong knife, though, I did okay with the slicing. Obi watched most of the process from The Boy’s arms, where at least they would be ready to give first aid.

"Please, Girl, put down the knife!"

Then…we cooked. I heated up my sweet potato chips in some butter, olive oil and cinnamon to complement the flavors of the cranberry pork. Mmmmmm, cranberry pork. The cinnamon turned the chips brown almost immediately. Then, seconds later, they were black with the burning. And, just as Obi suspected it would, the smoke detector went off.

I maintain our smoke detector is a) very sensitive and b) in a spot that attracts smoke.

The chips were, by the way, perfect. And perfect with the cranberry pork.

Cranberry pork. Mmmmm.