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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Justin C who wrote (13994)	10/28/1998 1:03:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Back when I had a cat (Ferrari by name) she came RUNNING whenever the can opener sounded. It was bound to be one of her two favorite things. Wet cat food (a rare treat) or tomato sauce. Go figure. She LOVED tomato sauce. I'd spoon it into my recipe du jour, and she'd meticulously lick every last microgram out of the can.

To: Justin C who wrote (13994)	10/28/1998 2:28:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

I hate when they try to cover their food. (I feel like booting them when they "pull that crap".) "I think I'll try this later" ~ that would do. Sans the editorializing. I feel like grabbing them up, opening the cupboard, and saying, "See that? Twelve cans." They pretend they're blind. "And they're not going next door like that other stuff." I don't feel they get to "have" opinions when you're spooning their dinner out of a can. "Here. Here's the door. A whole smorgy out there. Come back after you wash up." "Ahoy, little mateys! Well I'll be darned - it's tuna! Nice catch!" Those cans smell terrible. Really terrible. I can't get near them. I mean it. I used to have to "feed the cats" when I was a kid. I wish I had a dime and a gun for every 5:30 I heard, "Did you feed the cats?" Get their crumpy crummy bowls, get the can opener ~ that cutter-roller thing goes down in the can ya know, and gets cooties on it ~ and you can't get those lids out of there without touching them. They're "stuck". Pasted down. Gom. It's suction-gommed on there. Pick a "flavor", in rotation, they haven't rejected. Gotta divide it EVENLY down the middle with the spoon. Half of it is gelatin, that will make you never want to see a ham again. I asked my Dad what that clear amber stuff was. "Gelatin. Uhm, like in a ham." Eewww. For Pete's sake, yuck. Cut; plop, plop, whack. Whack until the glop flips off the spoon. Lucky if some doesn't flip in your hair. Change icky newspaper. Clean spilled milk before funnies transfer to linoleum. Don't even want to rinse the spoon off in the sink, and you have to touch the spoon with your fingers to do it. Rub rub oooh. Slimy. Greeecy. Can't use the dishrag, heaven knows. Ugh. Not getting that anywhere near it. Put down their bowls, at arms length; all the while they're screaming their heads off hitting and fighting and getting stepped on. Stinky radioactive can goes in trash. {Which I always have to take out, by the way. Why can't girls ever do that? 'Cause it stinks? 'Cause they'd be grossed out? Huh? Yes. They would. Just like me. And it would serve their Pig-nesses right.] I needed a strategy. If I'd been forty-five, instead of ten, I could've had one. Like ~ if I had put on latex gloves, maybe. Put on latex gloves, used disposable wooden spoons, .....and tied on an apron first. Mom would have said, "Bren, honey, ~ you're going to have to feed the cats. I don't like Paul doing it. It might be ruining him. (Or me.)" It's pathetic going to the store even. People standing in front of rows of cans, usually a mom with some little kid, saying: "I think he likes Kitty Salmon Beef Bouillabaisse." "Who gives a shit what he likes", the kid is thinking. But in the end, he knows HE ~ Mr Scapegoat ~ is going to be responsible for getting Homer to eat. "Oh. It looks like they don't like that stuff, Paul." ("Yah. Tuff titties.") "Right. I'll just scrape it out of their bowls." "OK, Mom, look! ~ I'll put it on The List! 'No...more....Purina.....Pork'n Beans.'" [Imagine cat caught in grinder.] "Maybe Lear would like to go to the store and pick out his own damn food." Why am I supposed to proxy for him. Like I share his food? "Think he'll like this?" "Oh, yeah, Mom. We're very similar." "Nuh-uh ~ doesn't look good, to me." Here's what cans they want to see: "Mice." "Cat Food From Next Door." "Dog Food ala Way Up The Street." "Car-Killed Birds." "Stuff Another Cat Threw Up." "Soup Bowl Left On Floor While Getting Up To Let Spanky In Before He Tears The Veneer Off It." Sometimes now, I have to talk to Mary Jane's. "Owner ~ Cat. Owner ~ Cat. Owner ~ Cat." "You're just a cat." "OK, see if I care." "Try that again, and you'll be sorry." "I see you." "TV's going off in ten minutes." "Cat tax! Cat tax!" "Come on down here." "Can, you, say, .....'Car ride'?" Heh heh heh.