by Daniel M. Weiss
The other evening I ate dinner at home. Not having my usual fare, I opened a “Hungry Man’s Dinner.” Read the instructions and put it into my microwave to heat. Whenever Frankie hears the microwave going on, she jumps to her personal place mat on my kitchen table in hopes of getting some treat that is not her usual repast.
This meal consisted of two slices of white chicken breast, green beans, mashed potatoes and a little dessert of some sort of cherry pie or cake. All the time the meal is heating, Frankie sits so prettily on her haunches in expectations of getting some of the chicken she smells in the microwave. She keeps looking expectantly at me with her beautiful face and big green and black eyes.
You all know about the terrible blunder I made in giving her some spicy chicken and the torture I went through, not to mention the expense, a few weeks ago. The stupid Vets suggested opening her up for exploratory surgery, I refused. Frankie is fine.
Anyway, after the meal was heated, taking it out of the microwave, I sat down to eat. Frankie’s gaze never left my eyes in hope that I would relent and give her bits of the white chicken. I confess, sometimes I think she’s smarter than her Mr. Mom. She knows I love her dearly and would do almost anything to prove that love. Being the smart feline she is, taking any advantage possible of that love is her ultimate goal.
Partaking of the white chicken I could taste no spices; the gravy in which it was cooked contained no spice that would harm Frankie’s delicate digestive system. I knew by the look on her face that she was watching my every move with her begging eyes, especially when I cut some tiny pieces of the chicken and put it on a napkin.
Frankie did not have to move anything but her neck and toothless mouth to reach the chicken bits and swallow them quicker than the blink of an eye. What could I do? But take food out of my mouth to give to her, just as any loving mother would do. After all I owe her so much for the comfort and unselfish love she has given me.
I kept cutting more little pieces until Frankie had her fill; she then unceremoniously left her place on the kitchen table, while licking her lips and went downstairs. Her habit of licking her lips gives her away . . . she just had some food.
War or no war, the goings on of Frankie and her Mr. Mom take precedence over TV, radio or any other communication facility excepting my computer boasting and writings about our days or nights and living together in a harmony of quiet peace and blissful contentment.
Meanwhile, my other “child” and Frankie’s companion cat, Johnnie sleeps soundly on her favorite place, the picture windowsill, totally unaware of the above described byplay between Mr. Mom and his beautiful “daughter” Frankie.
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