With our tabby cat Tiger on her last paws, my mom Cathy has been distracted. She was so excited this morning: Tiger ate almost a whole can of Fancy Feast cat food. Then she jumped up on the table and took a few sips of Cathy’s iced coffee.
“Why is it okay to drink iced coffee but not eat food from the refrigerator?” Cathy asked.
Tiger twitched her tail and headed back to her home in the closet. She likes to sleep there during the day. Fine with me. Out of sight, out of mind. More of everything for me.
Alas, our ditzy roommate Creampuff, who’s healthy as a horse, is developing a taste for all this fancy food. Mom will never get her back to crunchies.
I don’t understand finicky. It’s not in my vocabulary or my genes. Garbage or gourmet — who cares?