Regardless, his little comment did prompt me to share a (completely harmless) photo and story. As it happened, one of my little critters, Chief, got wind of the fact that I was preparing seafood (crafty little killer queen that she is). After I was done with my plate of red curry pasta, she snuck onto the kitchen counter to give the residual shrimpy juices on my plate a little taste. She didn't plan on the curry. I find her, moments later, like so:
She's drinking from the toilet. Yes, the toilet's clean. Yes, she's aware she's not a dog (although the other critter Figaro constantly suffers from this sort of species identity confusion). Yes, I keep a generous bowl of fresh, clean water for her to drink. No, I have no idea why this seemed like a good plan to her.
I promise to keep this blog mostly about food and my experiences with it over my solitary weekends; just had to share one of Chiefy's experiences, too. Moral of the story: cats can't take fiery Thai flavour. At least, mine can't. Khor toat, mao. Stay off the counter next time.
Denying any allegations of gastronomical animal abuse,
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