Monday, December 13, 2010

Not For Cats

This is a phrase I have been uttering with greater than usual regularity recently. His Highness has tired of his fancy organic biologically-optimized low-carb kibble and has begun to take more of an interest in people food. But only the best people food, mind you. Gingerbread, too plebian; ginger custard sauce, acceptable. Bacon, beneath him; pancetta, worthy of interest. Cheddar, no thank you; camembert, yes please.

But nothing rocks his little kitty world like prosciutto. Jabberwocky will go through hell and high water for a nibble of delicious paper-thin dry-cured ham, even if it is domestic rather than Italian imported. You only have to open the bag for him to forget all attempts at sneakiness and propriety and jump up on the counter (an act for which he knows he will be punished) even when you're standing right there with the Squirt Bottle of Doom in hand. He just can't help himself. I had thought him immune to the allures of controlled substances when I saw his utter disdain for catnip, but it appears I may have discovered his vice of choice. And I can't say that I blame him.

And then there's the Christmas decorations:


Okay, Jabbers hasn't been *quite* that bad, but almost.

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