I am completely ready for my family to be back on this side of the Mississippi. Hell, even if they were in Arkansas and something went wrong, I know I could count on some Memphis blogger to run over and rescue them (that’s “run over to them” and “rescue them,” not “run over them and rescue them,” though I suspect a couple of them could be compelled to do the latter).
Anyway, in the old days, I’d just sit around and be like “Oh, I’m having cupcakes for dinner and feel sorry for myself.” But I tried that once this week and felt so crappy afterward that I had to recuse myself from cupcake for dinner duty.
So, I have been spoiling the animals instead. Big ole bones for Mrs. Wigglebottom and, yesterday, chicken livers for the cats.
Lord almighty that was stupid.
First, our cats don’t get chicken livers. It’s something I remember from when I was a kid. So, the livers plopped down in front of all three of them and they all just looked at the liver like, “Um, what the fuck is this?” Well, I didn’t want to have to feed three chicken livers to the dog, so I felt like I had to cajole the cats into at least trying them. But nothing. There was nothing I could do.
Finally, I was all “Well, maybe they’re just not used to trying to eat something that big,” so I started to cut into one. I don’t know if it was that a big waft of blood was released or what, but all of a sudden, they got it.
Nom, nom, nom.
They all ate the chicken livers.
Every time I go to the motherfucking kitchen, for any reason, or even just to walk through it to the back room, I am accosted by three cats who have come to see if maybe, just maybe, they might have more of that liver.