The Food Protest (These Beasts Be Bitches)

Let's talk about the dog. She's a dog, she'll eat just about anything. Whenever I'm working in the kitchen she lies in the hall, just beyond the linoleum, awaiting any of the cue words that she's grown accustomed to; "uh-oh", "oh crap", or "dammit". This usually signifies that I've dropped something probably edible on the floor, at which time she magically appears at the spill site because, as the canine five second rule states, if its on the floor for more than five seconds, it's yours.

She's pretty picky about what she gets excited about though. She'll munch on grass clumps that fall out from underneath the lawnmower, but won't touch a leaf of lettuce. She'll risk a good lecture and a naughty finger shake to get to the Catbox Buffet, but Heaven forbid a broccoli floret should cross her lips.

Ball? What ball?

As picky as she is, when Brandi-Dog hears the sound of her dinner dish scooping up a bowl of dry, gravy covered kibble, you've got her undivided attention. But if you put that bowl down in its place too soon, she'll just stare at you. She looks at the bowl, looks at you, and then back at the bowl. She's waiting to see if you're going to pour some hot water on that kibble, and then thoroughly mix it in, so that every bit of powder that covers every crunchy chunk melts into a thick, beefy gravy that smothers and softens every delicious morsel. Go ahead. Do it. 

She wants you to do it, but it doesn't matter if you do or not because even if you do you're going to get the same dissatisfied, sad puppy eyed, appalled that you would even think to serve her this slop look on her face as her eyes meet yours and then she lowers her head and looks away, in silent protest.

I give the same response each time. "Oh Please! Just eat your food." And she does, begrudgingly, only because she's planning to pilfer the cat's dish as soon as our backs are turned. And she does.

Now we'll talk about the cat. The poor thing is always starving. Nobody ever knows how long it's been since she's eaten, thanks to the dog. There is a clue, however that we've learned to pick up on. You see, Kitty isn't a sit down and clean your plate kind of chick. She's a snacky, eat when I feel like it, slowly grazing throughout the day kind. So there's always something left in the bottom of the bowl when she walks away. She actually thinks it's empty. The bottom must be fully covered by at least a half an inch of food before Miss Kitty believes that you're not just messing with her head, and that there is actually food in there! So, if you ever see the cat's dish without at least some crumbly crumbs scattered about, then you can bet the dog was the last person to see the victim alive, so to speak. 

So that leaves us to bear the annoyance of the kitchen cabinet door bouncing against the frame as it closes (B-Bump. B-BumpBump)... after it's been opened by a furry little paw grasping at the bottom edge. She's not trying to open the cabinet to get to the food. No, we've done this experiment and learned that she just wants the cabinet to make that noise because it irritates the hell out of us and will surely bring someone to the kitchen right quick. It's quite a genius operation for such a dumb beast. 

Unfortunately mealtime doesn't always work out to her specifications... not if the dog gets to the dish first. So now, after each feeding, the cat's dish gets tucked away in the pet food cabinet, to be brought out only upon request ... or B-BumpBump. And somewhere in the contract it states that if we don't comply within what she's perceives as twenty minutes, I get a puddle under my chair.

Yeah, that seems fair.


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