Idiot Boy is an idiot
Jun. 9th, 2008 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceIf I have ever given the impression that Mac was in any way smarter than the dumbest cat that ever was, I should like once and for all to resile from that position, with apologies for misleading you.
I was in the kitchen, preparing a small ham omelette for my nuncheon. Barry was attending, as is proper. Mac - arrived. In a flurry, doing sort of kangaroo-jumps and twisting in the air, twisting more on the ground, looking vaguely like he meant to bite at his own hindquarters before bounding off again in a terrible scurry.
Barry and I followed. He did the same thing all over the living-room, and wouldn't let either of us near. By this time, I confess I was a little concerned. Baz was so agitated, he chased Mac up the stairs and then down again, the clever boy; it meant I could snatch the idiot up at the foot of the stairs, and see what the problem was.
He had a very small sticky paper price-ticket attached to the fur of his hind foot.
Sticky!! Paper!! On his foot!!!
I detached it. He investigated anxiously, found it gone, and all was calm and peaceful in the Mac-verse. Off to the sunny windowsill as though nothing had happened whatsoever.
Barry got ham for being helpful. And for not leaping around like a lunatic, that too.
In other news: I bought a bottle of olive oil today, almost entirely because it had the word autochthonous on the label. "...produced solely from Cuquillo olives. It's a gold oil, fruity aroma and sweet taste. This is the expression of autochthonous variety." As opposed to its brother oil, from Picual olives, which is described as "charmingly bitter." So I bought that too, being somewhat charmingly bitter myself.
I was in the kitchen, preparing a small ham omelette for my nuncheon. Barry was attending, as is proper. Mac - arrived. In a flurry, doing sort of kangaroo-jumps and twisting in the air, twisting more on the ground, looking vaguely like he meant to bite at his own hindquarters before bounding off again in a terrible scurry.
Barry and I followed. He did the same thing all over the living-room, and wouldn't let either of us near. By this time, I confess I was a little concerned. Baz was so agitated, he chased Mac up the stairs and then down again, the clever boy; it meant I could snatch the idiot up at the foot of the stairs, and see what the problem was.
He had a very small sticky paper price-ticket attached to the fur of his hind foot.
Sticky!! Paper!! On his foot!!!
I detached it. He investigated anxiously, found it gone, and all was calm and peaceful in the Mac-verse. Off to the sunny windowsill as though nothing had happened whatsoever.
Barry got ham for being helpful. And for not leaping around like a lunatic, that too.
In other news: I bought a bottle of olive oil today, almost entirely because it had the word autochthonous on the label. "...produced solely from Cuquillo olives. It's a gold oil, fruity aroma and sweet taste. This is the expression of autochthonous variety." As opposed to its brother oil, from Picual olives, which is described as "charmingly bitter." So I bought that too, being somewhat charmingly bitter myself.