10 September, 2006

Simon Sunday: Return of the Felis Chocolate Thiefus 

Simon at around 16 weeks
Originally uploaded by Planet Vicster.

I came home from work Friday evening with one of those yummy pieces of cheescake with raspberry in a chocolate(!) crust from Peet's Coffee. I meant to save it for after supper, but ate a bit of it while I was waiting for my pasta to cook.

Simon had just finished his supper but was, of course, looking for more food. I explained to him that he had just finished his entire supper and had no more food coming. He looked like he was about to shove his paw in my face as if to say, "talk to the PAW, lady while you're getting me more chow!" but instead let out a truly pathetic meow, complete with the raspy voice of a kitten who's been crying out for days over the heartless mother who cruelly left him to starve to death. I commended his performance and leaned in for one of his kitty-nose-kisses. He started to rub his nose on mine, but then he hesitated and started sniffing my face instead. He sniffed at the corner of my mouth and then, having picked up the scent of cheesecake with chocolate(!) crust, attempted to shove his entire head into my mouth.

This morning I've made it to the top of Simon's Meanest Cruelest Most Neglectful Mommies List because I had the unmitigated gall to sleep in until 8:30(!!!). Then, not only did I not feed him immediately upon rising, I spent several minutes washing dishes(!!!). Then I only gave him half(!!!) of his breakfast. (Note: I've started splitting his meal portions because he doesn't eat so much as inhale his kibble. At least when I split the portions his gut gets a couple minutes' break bewteen hooverings.) I had left the container of kibble next to his dish as a reminder (to me) to give him the rest of his brekkies after completing some of my morning ablutions.

Simon had inhaled his kibble within 20 seconds and was following me around the apartment shrieking from the pain of not having ALL of his brekkies which, to him, is the same as not having ANY of his brekkies. So, sending silent prayers of apology to my neighbours for having to endure his ear-piercing wails, I made my way back to the kitchen and grabbed his kibble scoop from the shelf. The moment I opened the spout to the container, Simon tried to stick his head inside. I explained to him that the getting of his breakfast would go much faster if he got the hell out of my way, so he sat back with his "I'm SO IRRITATED!" sigh while I scooped out the second portion of kibble.

Then, with a short "MROW!" he lept to his feet, slapped my hand with his paw and grabbed hold of the kibble scoop! We were locked in a fierce tug-of-war, him glaring over the scoop at me with that "Hand over the chow, biznatch!" stare and me laughing hysterically. After 15 or 20 seconds, I managed to tickle his chin, thus liberating the scoop from the death grip of his jaw. We only spilled a few bits of kibble, which Simon took care of with haste, while I dumped the rest of his food in his dish.

I would love to report that peace has been restored here on Planet Vicster following Simon's breakfast but there's a slight wrinkle: Billie's still in the bedroom WITH A DISH OF FOOD(!!!) and it's driving Simon batshit. It's like watching the tragedy "Romeo and Juliet" performed by a Shakespeare troupe from Bizarroland.

Labels: cats, furkids, Simon, Simon Sunday

   ~~ victoria on 9:15 AM ~~    2 comments

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