Know what’s gross?
Know what’s grosser?
Eating cat food.
And right now, you’re probably either scratching your head in confusion, or wishing you hadn’t clicked on my article. But you did click on it, and let’s be honest: some tiny, nosy part of you wants to know why I ate cat food.
See, I didn’t choose to eat the cat food. I made the mistake of dozing on the couch while my terror … I mean, toddler, sat mesmerized by Linny, Tuck, and Ming Ming, too. Unfortunately, he did not stay mesmerized.
Please, don’t misunderstand. I do NOT make it a habit to fall asleep while my kid is loose. Hell, I can’t even pee while he’s awake without him trying to make an open-bleach-bottle-ginsu-knife-hot-oven-rack art piece in the middle of my living room. I really do pay attention to my kid. I hardly take my eyes off him. But this particular day, if I had to hear how “Sewious” saving the baby dragon was for one more instant, I was going to have to google “how to cut like an emo kid” to relieve some of the suffering.
Rather than googling, I closed my eyes. When I opened them, it was because something small and gritty had been shoved in my mouth. I sat up, and watched as my son popped a piece of cat food into his mouth. Then he tapped my mouth, and smiled, “Fankoo.” I gagged on the fishie shaped realization that I’d just had cat food shoved into my mouth. Scoob laughed.
Now, in all fairness, he was being very kind and gracious. He loves cat food in a big way. So much, in fact, that I’ve ceased every attempt to keep it away from him. I figure eventually he’ll either stop doing it, or his first girlfriend will not visit our house more than once. Either way, there will be a ray of sunshine poking out of that raincloud.
For now, however, I am stuck without that ray of sunshine, because I’m too busy picking twice processed salmon leftovers out of my teeth.