That float was indeed a queaser. Speaking of queasin cuisine, I had a tall chartreuse plastic glass I was drinking wine out of Sunday (kind of already queasy, isn't it?) ~ and I went and refilled it, and it tasted odd. I looked down in the glass plastic, and there were a bunch of potato chips I had dropped on the floor and picked up and put in there to take to the kitchen.
Barbecue ones. I don't like barbecue potato chips. Yet, in an act of true economy, I tried to drink the wine anyway. A tankard of wine is a tankard of wine. (Duh!!) And; I thought it would teach me a lesson. A more permanent lesson than simple self-admonishment; the lesson being to look into glasses, before I start filling them. (And to check coffee cups for flies.)
I have to try to beat behavioral sense into myself. Trusting my motor system to learn is the only hope. (Dash's cell phone was stolen by the time I learned to lock his truck...... uh-huh. I just "get out", we don't have to do "other steps" here. So the theory would be to do something like shut my foot in the door every time I get out, and learn to associate the two. "It hurts to get out of Dash's truck! Lock the door.")
I don't remember well, in real-time, so every sip, I thought, "What the hell is in this wine?" And then I look down, and there'd be soggy orange-y red potato chip stuck to the bottom of the limey glass, through the yellowy chardonnay.
It was quite ~ quite ~ a struggle.
You can usually get used to most sensory experiences, like a stinky place, or a cat shutting off your circulation.
Speak of the Devil, Fui's favorite foods on earth are potato chips and sharp cheddar cheese ~ that's what they have in the middle of the roads in Kitty Heaven, and you have to eat your way through. When they throw up a roadblock on the way to the cheese and chips, that's what you get. But she thinks barbecue chips are dope, sprayed with paraquat. Ruined. A plot. Satan's work. She lifts her paw and turns her head like she can't even bear the sight or stink of it. Like shielding herself from a furnace. Satan's Furnace.
If she's hiding, so as not to get rounded up After The Weather with the rest of La Cosa Nostra to go out, you can extract her, like a sliver, by going to the potato chip cupboard. It makes a little squeak when you open it. The bags will be in there with the paper clips over the folded tops ~ order equals freshness, for Pete's sake ~ rattle the top of the bag, the tiniest little "I'm trying to keep this quiet so Fui doesn't know" rattle, and then you will hear a little thunk somewhere in the house.
For super-fine tuning experiments, just the cupboard squeak is enough, to win a bet from the gullible.
She cannot quite tell the difference between the bag-rattle of barbecue and regular chips. So you can use either. I get a special joy out of using the barbecue bag for her little snot head.
She's the smartest cat either of us have ever had, but she's a sucker for that.
I wait 'til she gets here. "'Barbecue', Fui."
Heh heh. |
