As you probably know, Marc and I have interesting pets. Not interesting as in exotic fish or rare birds…interesting as in quirky and generally lacking manners. But they’re cute, and we love them nonetheless. I often wonder if their behavior is a reflection on Marc and me — much as I will probably wonder the same about Marc’s and my future children. I think, though, that when it boils down, they’re probably not as bad as I purport. So why the title? Why the inference that Kelso has started flipping pages in the “Big Book”? Well, it’s because of a story that I recalled and shared with Troy today at work.
When Marc and I had our first apartment, there was no Barkley…just Marc, Kelso, and me. It was great. We were three stories up with a balcony nestled in among the trees in the complex. Our first place together. Some days, we long for the simplicity of our lives back then — our life in the tree house, as we called it. But I digress. One day, probably around Halloween, my mom sent me home with one of those “bouquets” of Tootsie Roll Pops. So I put them in a mug on the kitchen counter. Then, as the days passed, I noticed that they seemed to be disappearing…quickly. I asked Marc about it, and he claimed that it wasn’t him. And I knew that it wasn’t me. So where were all of the suckers? Wait a second…why is there a Tootsie Roll Pop under the bed?….in the closet?….under the fridge? It didn’t really strike me who the real culprit was until one evening I noticed, while sitting on the couch, our furry little four-legged friend traipsing across the floor with a Tootsie Roll Pop in his mouth — picture it…sucker (still wrapped) clamped in his jaws, paper stick coming out the side of his mouth. Scoundrel! The whole time, it was Kelso who was nabbing the pops…stealing my favorite flavor, Raspberry.
Then there’s the bread. Don’t get me started on the number of loaves that Kelly has ruined — chewing out the corners of the bag in order to get his fix. There are no second chances when it comes to forgetting a loaf of bread (or buns) on the counter. We learned long ago that bread must be stored in the cupboard to avoid having to pitch the whole bag. And there is no grace period, no wiggle room. In a hurry and making a quick sandwich for lunch before work? You’ll come home to the gnarled remains of your favorite Sara Lee whole grain…crumbs shamelessly strewn about the counter top.
And then there’s this. The ultimate in kitty gluttony. As Marc and I relaxed downstairs the other night, we heard a strange rustling noise. Knowing that this type of noise usually sounds the alarm bell on a Barkley mishap (shredding dish towels…eating mail), Marc jumped up and started toward the dining room, only to notice Barkley idly chewing on a bone. So he looked down, chuckled, bent over, and returned with a Twinkie in hand…retrieved from the jaws of our monster kitty. I could only laugh and feel a little disappointed that I didn’t get to witness a cat carrying a Twinkie in his mouth for a good thirty feet.
So what gives? Why the insistence on candy, breads, and Hostess snack cakes? I think Troy nailed it when he said, “Your cat is a carb addict!” Indeed, our feline friend’s dirty little secret is out. He pines for all things carbohydrate. In fact, Marc even pointed out that the cat tries to eat cardboard. I’m guessing that it isn’t just some strange form of pica…that the cat indeed has a terrible addiction. And I’m starting to think that all of those nights when he screamed in Marc’s ear at 4AM, all of those painful MRRWAAAAH’s were really just cries for help. Cries that we, unfortunately, ignored until now.
My name is Kelso. And I’m a Carboholic.
Keep Comin’ Back, Kelso.