I usually buy Purina One cat food, because it has the Senior Protection Formula and my cat is a senior.

A few weeks ago my mom gave me coupons for Friskies cat food. I’m not religious about what I feed my cat; the next time I went to the grocery store I got some Friskies. There was still a third of a bag of Purina, so I stuck the Friskies underneath it, and refilled his bowl with Purina.

With four people dipping in and out of the pantry all day, its door is often left ajar. The next morning I found the Purina bag shoved aside and several holes ripped in the Friskies bag. Apparently Phurball really likes Friskies.

But there’s no reason for him not to finish off a bag of perfectly good cat food when there are cats going hungry all over the country. (Okay, I’m a mom and it carries over.) I made sure to keep the pantry door closed so he couldn’t get into the Friskies, and would have to eat what was in his bowl.

He didn’t.

Several days went by.

He’d have a bite when he got really hungry, but not much. I decided that once the Purina was used up I would switch to Friskies brand, since he obviously likes it better. But first he had to finish off the old bag. My mate, as always, found my discussions with the cat amusing:

“Meow!”

“No, you eat what’s in your bowl.”

“Maaoooooow!”

“That is perfectly good food in your bowl. Eat that and then I’ll give you the other kind.”

“Mrrrp?”

“No, this is not for you, this is for me.”

And so on.

One night one of us forgot to shut the pantry, and I went into the kitchen to find Phurball tucking in to the Friskies bag. I shooed him out and shut the door. “Eat what’s in your bowl,” I instructed.

People who tell you only dogs can look pitiful have not spent time with cats. Phurball didn’t say anything, but he sat by the pantry door, looking at me with such forlorn resignation that I couldn’t stand it. Sighing, I dumped out the food in his bowl, gave it a quick rinse in the sink, and filled it with the Friskies. After all, he’s an old man and it’s not good for him to be skipping meals.

Shut up.

 

Seems like just last week I started seeing Halloween candy in the stores, and already it’s November. Happens to me every year; I plan to be ready for Halloween well in advance, and then—surprise!—it’s already past.

The kids, of course, like Halloween even more than I do. At about ten in the morning my youngest asked when we could go trick-or-treating.

“Traditionally people go trick-or-treating at dusk, when it starts to get dark and scary.”

“What’s dusk?”

“That’s when the sun is starting to go down but there’s still some light.”

“What time does that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

He was good; he didn’t nag me or continue asking when we were going to be going out. But he literally paced the floor. He wandered through the house. He looked out the window, checking the light. He wandered back through the house. Checked the window again. After a bit I had pity on the poor kid and looked up twilight times online for him.

“Okay, kid, according to this almanac the sun will start setting at 5:47. How about we start at six?”

“How about 5:47?”

We were the first trick-or-treaters in the neighborhood. Little dude took charge and led the expedition. “Okay, let’s go to that house next. Now let’s go up this street. Don’t cut across their yard.” (We’ve tried to instill that one in them since they were small; I don’t much care if kids wear paths through my yard, but I realize other people do.)

My older son got tired of it well before the youngest. So by the end the younger sprog’s directives were interspersed with his plaintive, “How many more houses are we going to do? Are we very far from home? I guess we have a long way back.”

Still, they both remained cheerful and cooperative, and didn’t argue when I made them eat some dinner before digging into the candy, or when I insisted the candy stay in the kitchen rather than being squirreled away in their rooms. (Dig up fuzzy grey Tootsie Rolls from under the bed just once and you’ll understand this rule.)

Still, it was over too quickly for me. I know I’m always telling myself that next year I’ll be organized ahead of time and have a party or something, but next I really will.

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