It's four a.m. and one of us has to get up. Today that was me. So I did what any normal parent would do who is up at four a.m. because of a bundle of lumbering fat: I took her downstairs and promptly gave her some exceedingly unhealthy, salty crackers because umami is really effective in silencing squawking. Then, I proceeded to ignore her.
I mean, I gave her three of those crackers. Surely that's enough to amuse any red-blooded dimple butt, right? Oh, plus, I had the infinite pleasure of just prior, turning her over on her tummy--on my crossed legs, mind--and removing her diaper (yeah, I smacked it, too!) and then putting on a fresh one.
So, back to that whole ignoring thing. I'm on my phone. Surveying the various news sites.
Things are suspiciously quiet. She crawls away. Oh gad. Is she in our books? No, I don't hear any papers rustling so I'm okay.
Then, I get up. And discover why she's been so quiet. She's over by the cat food.
Oh, no.
I don't have my glasses on thank goodness and this is the thing people don't understand when they're born with 20/20 vision: nearsightedness absolves you of a lot of responsibility. "I can't see what you're pointing to/what you're doing/what you're referring to/what you're saying (this last one is a stretch but I've used it with some success)" is really an invaluable tool in every person's denial repertoire. Even when using it with myself. Like right now, for instance. Because, it's a known fact that for those of us blessed with myopia, our cones and rods work even less well when it's dark. And guess what? At four in the morning, it's pretty much pitch black outside and I don't have that many lights on inside. So I can't see if she's eating anything. Anything that is besides crackers.
Again I do what any normal person would do in the same situation. I expel a healthy string of expletives. That done, I then remove said offending bowls of cat food. And the water bowl which the little fatso mistakes for a water table.
I then entice her away with the promise of another foresaid cracker.
She continues to sit.
Then, her greasy paw, oh excuse me, greasy stubby little hand, moves to her mouth to shove something else into it.
Then, she looks at me. And smiles.
I'm not certain, but I think I lost that one.
Well, they say cat food promotes shiny coats. And that mop on top, with the tail/mullet. It does kind of look like fur.
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