IT WAS PROBABLY THE CAT

One of the individuals whom I see every weekend comes by with a dog. He's not a one dog person, and it's probably true that the dogs are far more loyal to him than he is to them.
He is not despicable. Despite being a Republican.
I'm basing that assessment on the dogs.
The dogs are decent people.


There was a small dog at work yesterday who looked at me with great sadness while I ate my lunch. I thought it was because he was wondering why I did not share my food, so I got him a dog biscuit, but now I'm inclined to think it was because he couldn't chew much. The sadness may have been caused by regret. A sorrowful longing for crunch and shred and texture.

Sorry, Rover, what I'm eating came from the convenience store. It was made for white people. If you found crunch and shred and texture in it, it would disconcert you.
It's lowest common denominator, total suburban.
Blah enough to be Iowa.

Who knows, maybe I should have shared it with him. He might have liked it.

A cat, however, would have ripped it out of my grasp at an opportune moment, tried to chew it, and then spat it out as being too bizarrely bland for consumption. It's sole saving grace was that the package said "Best By Tuesday March 11".

This morning I saw some lovely steamed fatty pork meatballs after getting my congee, and regretted that unlike a feline's, my stomach isn't infinitely capacious. They looked yummy.
I'm guessing they had ginger, black mushroom, and water chestnut in them.
Sort of like 'Lions' Heads', but without the cabbage.
Very much not Iowa.


If that eatery had a cat on the premises it would probably be a chonker.
Best fed cat for miles. A gravitastic furry gourmand.


I am jealous of this imaginary beast.



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