On Sunday morning the phone rang. I picked it up, but handed it off promptly to the Sober Husband when I learned it was the gabby cat poaching neighbor (who wooed my old, fat tabby, Bob Marley, away years ago). I was in the middle of making a zucchini-basil frittata for lunch with other, non-cat poaching neighbors. (Sidenote for those wondering about the new Aga: I used one of the funky new features for my frittata, the browning mode on the multi-function oven. This mode operates the top heating element only and finishes a frittata off to perfection, providing a more gentle heat than a broiler would).
"You say 'the bushy black cat' is eating over at your place?" the Sober Husband said. He turned to me. "Frowst is eating over at John's."
I was livid. "Tell him not to feed Frowst!" I hissed repeatedly. The Sober Husband ignored me, apart from making "leave-alone-I'm-on-the-phone" faces at me.
After an extended conversation (the catpoaching neighbor is very chatty), the Sober Husband reported. "Frowst figured out a way to go in John's house, and he's eating over there. But he's not friendly or social; he doesn't interact with John."
"He's trying to steal Frowst! My most beautiful cat!"
The Sober Husband defended John. "What's he supposed to do? Frowst is coming in his house. He didn't have to call."
I shouted after him as he descended into the garage. "DON'T DEFEND THE CAT-POACHER AGAINST ME!"
He rolled his eyes. "Sweetie, the cat is going into his house."
2 comments:
Hmmm... Poached cat. Sounds kind of bland and tough. I like mine marinated and barbecued.
It sounds almost like you're poking fun at yourself in this post. Which made me realize, you NEVER do that!
I mean, I do it all the time I don't know why I didn't realize you don't. But I don't think you ever have!
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