Maybe I should explain.
I dig cats. All cool and aloof and they lick their front paws and wash their faces. I think we can all agree that is pretty friggin’ cute.
But I am allergic to cats.
So I adopted one of the local stray cats, even though he doesn’t know it.
I’ve named him Earl. Because he is grey. Earl Grey. Get it? I considered Jennifer Grey, but she had unnecessary plastic surgery on her nose and I just don’t like that. Baby belongs in the corner.
Now Earl is kinda skinny.
Maybe it is a lifestyle choice. Maybe he no longer eats fattening foods and it is the best he’s felt in all of his nine lives and who the hell am I to judge?
But he is currently under the neighbours’ bushes eating bugs or worms or something, soooooooooo.
A little while ago, I found a (just about) questionable piece of chicken in the fridge and decided that he might enjoy it. So I leaned out the backdoor, got his attention, and tossed it towards him.
Earl straight up bolted in the other direction.
I mean, it is kind of understandable, as it is widely known that I have an arm like Jay Cutler. (Except that Jay Cutler would have missed Earl and put it right between the numbers of a seagull passing by.)
But, dude, I have fried chicken for you!
As I type this, I keep taking breaks to sneak over to the window and see if Earl is munching.
He’s out there now, eating it!!!
I wonder what else I have in the fridge.