Tag Archives: food


My cat is a genius, and I’ll prove it

From the moment I met Chloe, I knew she had impeccable taste. In her haste to win me over at the adoption center, she tried snuggling into my Coach purse, for gosh sake. She no longer recognizes potato chips as a main food group, proving she’s way out of my league. And, she hardly ever eats my tank top straps anymore. Cotton: the fabric of her first life.

Good thing she lifts.

Good thing she lifts.

Her palate has grown in leaps and bounds throughout the years, much like herself (hey, calories are calories), over time giving way to remarkable sophistication.

Originally a farm kitten growing up on mice, I’ve established she must have gotten a taste for finer living as my own life transitioned and bloomed from singleton with a starter career eating canned soup for lunch to Mrs. with a mortgage loan eating canned soup for lunch. Ok, bad example.

Although that taste still doesn’t fit into our monthly budget, Chloe musters brilliant resourcefulness to garner what she wants. I’d like to think she learned this from my former shopping abilities. I once rationalized buying a pair of $150 boots mere hours after quitting a job, with no future career in sight, out of sheer defiance and stubbornness. Take your best shot at me, world.

Suddenly, it’s much more apparent where Chloe gets her attitude from.

I am not

Contempt? What contempt?

Since moving into our new house in October, we rearranged her dining situation to include both water and food bowls on a plastic mat with a hefty lip to prevent spillage. In the past, this never worked because she would inevitably knock over her water bowl, soaking the carpet repugnantly as if to say, “Away with this tepid concoction. Mere peons wouldn’t be forced to drink this! Hazzah!” After all, drinking water three seconds old from a bowl was unthinkable considering she could get it fresh from the faucet if she melted my face off with enough of her old timey charm.

Nowadays, she simply sits pitifully in front of the bowl, glaring at me in disdain with a look that says, “Get this joke out of my face.” But she’ll drink it when she gets desperate enough. My baby’s growing up!

So, the food bowl is on the right side, and water is on the left. One day, I saw Chloe sitting to the left of the water bowl, performing with her adorable left little paw what Clayton and I refer to as a “sky hook.”

My first reaction was standard amusement.

“How does it feel to know your cat is a leftie?” Clayton asked.

I stared at him, aghast.

“Look, she’s sky hooking!!!” he exclaimed.

Our necks snapped quickly back to the action at hand.

With paw dangling in midair at an angle and precision only Creighton University Forward Ethan Wragge making a perfect three could exhibit, she gracefully curved it down into her food bowl, deftly scooping up some niblets and flinging them into her water bowl. She then fished food particles out of the water and into her mouth. This process was repeated many times until she had her fill. At first, we just thought she had lost it. Then, one evening …

“Is she … making her own wet cat food?” Clayton inquired incredulously.

Guys, she was. She was making her OWN WET CAT FOOD. I assume her love of it began when I gave her canned food to mask antibiotics a few months ago. Who knew she clung to that memory until discovering her own way to make it a reality?

Even better, we got it on video.

Chloe has since standardized this process for each meal, and it never gets old to watch. Helloooo – smartest cat alive. And, that’s when I realized it. She is once again modeling our behaviors, this time, of which are economical (although, not by my preference). It’s like the time I really wanted a frozen, deep dish apple pie for $7 and Clayton gave his approval because the oven would serve the dual purpose of warming the house. Shrug. A win is a win.

The price you pay when your cat's not a genius. (Photo Source: www.treehugger.com)

The price you pay when your cat’s not a genius. (Photo Source: www.treehugger.com)

Future possibilities regarding what Chloe is capable of are potentially limitless. Training her to use the toilet isn’t out of the question. Perhaps, in time, she will also become our poop prodigy. When that happens, and IT WILL, I won’t be putting free videos on WordPress anymore. If you want to see our circus freak, you can do it like everyone else: by getting in line at our front door and paying $5 upon entry.

No refunds.

“T” stands for testosterone in “T. rex”

The world recently got the skinny on new tyrannosaurus rex findings, enough to now know that the dinosaur was anything but! Not only did T. rex grow more than twice as fast between the ages of 10 and 15, but at more than 9 tons, it also weighed 30 percent more than initially thought, Reuters stated Wednesday. The article went on to say that “the fearsome predator would have been a ravenous teenager.”

"I'm sensitive about my small...hands, not about being overweight!"

Yowza. Sexy Rexy, indeed! To me, “ravenous teenager” implies that of the male persuasion because there’s nothing teenage girls hate more than eating or (gasp!) announcing their weight in public. And maybe it’s my nonsensical reasoning, but with their big, sharp claws and ferocious, masochistic hype (Thank you, Jurassic Park), I always just assume that all T. rex are male anyway.

Procreation, shmocreation.

Therefore, I’m sticking to it. Cuz this is MY story. (Any Collin Raye fans out there who got that reference? No? No lovers of 90s country, either ironically or sincerely? I’ll even accept shoddy hipster appreciation. Any takers at all?

Bummer. And don’t judge – that’s just my Nebraska heritage waving its proud(ish) flag. Could be worse – at least I’m not from Iowa. The angry, Old Testament God no doubt had a hand in creating that “state.”)

Getting back to the story, though. The research was based off five species of T. rex, including the Chicago Field Museum’s skeleton of “Sue,” the largest of the bunch. Atta boy. Way to earn “A Boy Named Sue” some mad r-e-s-p-e-c-t.

Thank (the forgiving, New Testament) God we were able to account for that joke in this story, right? I think Johnny Cash would agree – rational thought be damned. Just like the dinosaurs.

"Dude. Low blow."

Anywho, “at their fastest, in their teenage years, they were putting on 11 pounds a day,” John Hutchinson of the Royal Veterinary College in London told Reuters. “Just think how much meat that is. That’s a hell of a lot of cheeseburgers … it’s a whole lot of duck-billed dinosaurs they needed to be chowing down on.”

Cheeseburgers. And I was worried about my common sense.

Their rapid teenage growth spurt also suggests they must have had a high metabolic rate, fueling the idea they were warm-blooded, researchers said.

I’m almost 85 percent sure that mathematically, rapid growth + high metabolic rate = warm-blooded = hot-headed = male. It’s the transitive property or something.

It reminds me of those Totino’s pizza roll commercials. Even though dinner always seems to be ten minutes from completion, it’s never enough. The scene usually goes something like this:

Teenage males (for the sake of this story, we’ll say ages 10-15 and ravenous) run into the kitchen from playing flag football all afternoon. Mom looks up like a duck-billed dinosaur in headlights from washing dishes.

Teenage male #1 (grunting in low, menacing voice, not unlike an undistinguishable growl): “Snacks! Now!”

Mom (chuckling nervously, wiping hands shakily on apron): “Dinner’s just on the table in a few minutes, boys.”

Teenage male #2 (circling kitchen island slowly): “We’re hungry NOW.”

Mom (backing away slowing toward oven): “But if you just wait ten more…”

Teenage males #3, #5 and #7 (closing in for the kill): “Grawr.” (Multiplied, of course, in intensity by number of males in room)

Mom (miraculously pulling Tortino’s pizza rolls out of thin air and tossing them quickly on counter, where they arrange perfectly on a festive, football-themed party platter, still somehow looking like absolute crap): “Snacks!”

Put them in the microwave too long and dinosaurs won't be the only mammals afraid of hot lava.

Tortino’s is perfectly marketed for male teenagers with insatiable appetites and the moms who fear them. Their slogan should be “Lest your hand and face be bitten off….Totino’s!”

I guess I think we’re still saying “lest” in this day and age.

A mind-blowing analogy it is not. Moms are the duck-billed dinosaurs of our time. Teenage boys are carnivorous T. rex. The world keeps a-spinnin.

In the end, it makes me wonder. What would those catty, snotty, self-absorbed, texting girls ages 10-15 be?

Screaming banshees probably.