I decided to celebrate the snowstorm this weekend by skipping the Appleseed I signed up for (this probably means that I fail as a Founding Father, but at least I haven’t put one of the vehicles in a ditch) and drowning my sorrows in beer, rooster sauce, saltine crackers, and a Ken Burns documentary.
(The camera pans across a picture of a person being gnawed on by several zombies. Voiceover: “But the impact of the Zombie War on the people of Austin, Texas, Sacramento, California, Pune, India, and McMurdo, Antarctica was not yet fully realized.”)
This is the sort of thing one can do when one is the sort of bipoly quasi-bachelor that I am. It is not, however, the sort of thing that always works well when you have a cat that loves:
- Beer.
- Whatever the human is eating.
- Oh, and also the human. Possibly to eat.
I promptly found myself with a dilemma between stopping the cat from drinking my beer and stopping the cat from eating my rooster sauce. This called for one of them Executive Decisions; I prioritized the beer, figuring that I’d be most unhappy if it were dumped into my laptop.
The rooster sauce turned out to be, shall we say, a self-solving problem. The cat went after it with great anticipation of the food glory to come, took a lick… and instantly did a kitty version of the Mr. Yuk face and ran off.
Winning?
Smoke Test Shack 