Okay... here's the dish... while I'd like to be that blogger that spent the afternoon strolling through a winter wonderland taking gorgeous photos of early promises of Spring... or wandering through a funky yet fabulous home taking candid snaps that would put a magazine photo shoot to shame... or making a drool-worthy photo laden tutorial of my latest baking effort... it's just not me... not on a regular, post-a-day basis anyway.
Don't get me wrong, I make a mean carrot cake and consider my decorating attempts fairly successful in an eclectically artsy way... but no, on this particular day, I was just too busy playing crazed, water gun toting, neighborhood cat lady...
I think I mentioned earlier in this blog that my neighbor and I put out food for some stray cats. Well, apparently I, unlike him, cannot just dump the kibble in the dish and go back into my home and mind my own business. No, not me, I have to referee dinner time. For cats. Not even my own cats. For feral cats.
And because I am guilty of this activity, I have noticed a pattern whereby this little group of grazers has completely cut out a small cat from eating. It happened again this evening... so, I did what any NORMAL person would do. I went inside... cut a good-sized piece off a rotisserie chicken, loaded up a water pistol (yes, I keep water pistols... I have two house cats that need refereeing themselves occasionally) and headed back outside.
I cannot accurately describe the scene that followed... Suffice it to say, it involved the tossing of the chicken to the small cat... followed by a lot of bent-knee, gun pointing, movie cop posturing, "get back...back off" fending off of the other cats until she FINALLY finished eating... If I were a good blogger, I would have photos... gorgeous photos... the pale sunlight filtering through the lime green plastic of my water pistol... sigh. Next time.
