Today I went to my chiropractor, the fabric store, the grocery store, and drove through at Arby’s to pick up lunch. This probably doesn’t seem like much, but I’m recovering from some mild food poisoning and feeling a bit wiped out.
But the kittens were almost out of food.
Note the relief on their faces. And the planning. What can will they open first?
Side note: dear lady giving me the side eye in the grocery store for picking around the dented cans, have you ever opened a can of cat food completely filled with mold because you didn’t notice the dent had actually caused a hole? No? Then don’t judge me.
Bonus: that can was in a box, so the mold had also spread around other cans, through the cardboard and onto my floor. My life for the win!
Anyway, I got home and put away the refrigerated items. The rest is still on the floor in the kitchen. Oliver is administering Purr Therapy and trying to convince me he’s a good boy.
I don’t know about that. For one thing, I must have let Kitten Thunder’s manners out the back door when I came in with the Arby’s bag. Obi licked my sandwich wrapper, in my lap, while I was eating.
Both of them bit my finger because I wasn’t putting down that roast beef fast enough (yes, Oli is allergic, but a tiny bit of roast beef is just one more zit on his already acne-ridden chin).
Then this happened.
That’s right. My tall grey kitten stood up and jammed his head into the bag and stole a curly fry.
Then this happened.
I was done with them, but kittens with bad manners don’t get rewarded for such behavior.
So this happened.
It’s a squirrel food battle between rye bread and curly fries. I’d pretend like I don’t know which will win, but I put out six slices of wheat bread at the same time as that slice of rye last night. They were gone for me to put out the fries today.
From where I am on the couch I can see a squirrel hauling a chunk of fry up the tree.
No fair, says Oliver.