Buy two of these (insert brand name here) healthy dinners with low sodium, low fat, and get a free package of Dove Ice Cream bars!Isn't that rather like, "Buy a pair of Nike running shoes, get a free pack of Malboro Cigarettes?"
On the other hand, I have always wanted to try the dinners. And well, if they taste like sawdust, like so much of this "Healthy foods" do, at least I can activate my tastebuds with the Dove Bars.
For those who have seen my last post (I'm still in shock, 105 comments. Holy Mackeral! But anyway, coming home from work today, my sneakers were still pretty clean, even though I'd worn them all day. I stopped to give them a quick wipe with a damp cloth, took them off, and went to feed the cats.
Goten came running and began to do the "I'm a starving cat" dance of love. Which involves twining around my ankles and rubbing up against me, looking at me with big, solemn eyes, as if to say, Mommy, I am starving to death... please feed me, see me waste away before your very eyes!
This would be a lot more convincing if Goten wasn't a rather "healthy" cat. In fact, if they had plus size fashions for cats, Goten could be their spokesperson. He's not super fat, but it's a bit hard to believe he's wasting away to skin and bones when he's dancing against you and you see this blob of fat wobbling against your legs. Not to mention, that a cat should not have enough weight to knock down a human being. Trip them, yes. Even an anorexic cat can trip people. I'm talking about being able to lean up against the back of my legs and send me crashing to the floor.
So, I get out the paper plates and get the canned food out. All the while Goten is alternating between yowling angrily, over the huge length of time it's taking to get his dinner (that whole two minutes) and rubbing against me. So I'm kinda feeling like I'm dealing with a cat who's posessed by the devil. "Oh, Mommy, I wuv you so... Now get my dinner you whore from hell! Oh, Mommy, I'm soooo hungry and you open the bestest cans of cat food And hurry it up, before I send a plauge of locusts upon you, you evil scum!
So, I get the food divided up on two plates, put them on the floor. Goten digs in, making these disgusting noises. He's one of the only cats I've ever known who snorts, smacks his lips, and gets food on his eyebrows and all over his face when he eats. I can only assume he's storing excess food in his fur to eat later, when he's hungry.
However, no Chrissy.
I look under the kitchen table (her favorite hidey hole) no Chrissy.
I look in the shower (her second favorite hidey hole) no Chrissy.
I cut through my husband's room (where he's sleeping, he's third shift) and go into his office, and look in the little closet. (her alternative hidey hole) No Chrissy.
I cut through to my bedroom and look under the bed. (a really bad hidey hole, but if it's an emergency...) No Chrissy.
I go into the living room, where there really aren't great places to hide. No Chrissy.
I walk back into the kitchen. She's somehow appeared in the kitchen, and is eating in her dainty fashion, which is to take a big mouthful, and then crouch down, bobbing her head and little by little, jerking it into her mouth. This method might work well if I gave her a big old hunk of raw meat, but this is canned catfood, which is liquidy and falls apart when you look at it. So, what she's doing is spraying bits of catfood all over the floor.
Well, at least both cats are accounted for, so I can relax. I go to the bathroom, wash my face, wash my hands, then go into the living room. I grab my sneakers, which I had placed on the heater, to put them away.
I noticed they were still pretty damp, for the brief rub I gave them with a damp cloth. In fact, they were remarkably wet. So wet that they left a puddle on the heater.
And... they don't smell very good either.
Yes, you guessed it, Chrissy pissed on my sneakers. And I don't understand how an eight pound cat could produce a gallon of pee, but she managed to do it. I guess she's been torturing her kidneys all her life, waiting for this moment.
So, I cleaned up my sneakers, did the whole "Windex, shoe white, wash laces, foot spray, fabreeze, routeen I did yesterday, with the exception of replacing the inserts. (She didn't seem to get that far)
I leave them out to dry. Goten finishes eating and comes running over, sniffs and stops. Sniffs again, stops. Sits down, his head tipped to one side, and reaches out with one paw, gingerly touching the sneakers. When the sneakers don't leap up to attack, he sniffs again. Then, he brings is paw down, hard, claws extended. "WHAM!" then pushes the sneakers so they fall over. Then, with a look of total indignace, he storms off.
"Ah hah! You carry zee stink of anozer, a female cat. And her I thought you were my one and only, and you turn out to be a lezbian!"
If only Goten could talk. I'd put him on Jerry Springer. Goten, Chrissy, and my sneakers.