THAT'S How You Give Me FOOD

I finished scooping Cronsky’s three scoops of food into her dish, and she walked over in a hurry, meowing insistently, before stopping abruptly.

“Yah, hey, where’s my food?” She asked, staring at the cubby of her cat tower where the bowl was waiting.

“I just gave it to you.”

“No, that’s not my food. I can tell by the smell.”

“It’s what I’ve always given you!”

“And if I don’t want to feel like a mouse is nibbling on my insides, I eat that stuff, but it’s not my food.” She looked up at me condescendingly. I felt as though a professor was pointing out why my Lit paper lacked substance.

“Then what do you want?” I sighed after she finally looked away with disdain.

“You go to the fridge and open it,” she stated. “You make the crinkle noise. You turn around and take a stick out of the slide-out cubby.” She looked at me again, impatient with my ignorance. “Then you go to the counter top and make another crinkle noise with the thing from the fridge. You take the stick and the small round container of FOOD that the crinkle gave you, and you scoop the FOOD into my bowl.” She looked away again, barely containing her ire. “THAT’S how you give me FOOD.”

“You want the tuna I keep in a sandwich bag,” I deduced.

“Call it what you will.”

“Well, brat cat, I’m certainly not giving it to you NOW,” I announced with a mutter. “Tone down the attitude and maybe you’ll get some tomorrow.”

I turned and entered the kitchen to pre-set the coffee before bed. “NOT coming in and meowing at me tomorrow morning will make it more of a probability,” I called to her from around the corner.

I set the coffee, and when I came back into the living room her rump was taking-up the hole of the enclosed cubby and I heard the crunch of cat nibblings inside.

She would definitely survive despite not having any “food.”

#food #tuna #crinkle #cat