chicken theif
So, last night Lis made chicken and pasta for dinner. This was before my foray into baking with the convection oven part II. Okay, so, she baked the chicken on a cookie sheet--three pieces: one for her, one for me, one for later. So, after we ate (and finished watching Heroes) I decided I needed to bake my stuff. So, I go and take care of the left-over pasta (which was still in the colander) and wash the dishes, including the cookie sheet on which the chicken had been baked. Put the pasta in a tupperware. The cookie sheet was empty, and I thought nothing of it.
Long story short: There was cat puke under the table this evening. This is not an isolated event in this house: Girl Cat pukes at least once daily. The odd thing was that this vomit looked oddly chicken-like. Lis asked if I'd fed any chicken scraps to Fat Baby last night. The answer was no. But then this look of realization dawns on both of our faces: Neither of us put away the third piece of chicken last night.
The chicken thief got there first.
That piece of chicken was about the size of my hand. No wonder he threw half of it up.
Chicken thief...
Long story short: There was cat puke under the table this evening. This is not an isolated event in this house: Girl Cat pukes at least once daily. The odd thing was that this vomit looked oddly chicken-like. Lis asked if I'd fed any chicken scraps to Fat Baby last night. The answer was no. But then this look of realization dawns on both of our faces: Neither of us put away the third piece of chicken last night.
The chicken thief got there first.
That piece of chicken was about the size of my hand. No wonder he threw half of it up.
Chicken thief...