Mama and papa love to eat together. Well, they love to eat, period, as do I (note my refawined English) and they love shopping for food together and they love having friends over for lunches or dinners and they sit around the table forever, it seems (especially when they haven’t fed me first!) and they talk and talk and talk—papa calls it ‘cheeping’, but I associate that particular word with those dumb-ass feathered peckin’-hoppers on our terrace and so I prefer to say, “chat” or “discuss” or “ruminate and then comment”….anything but cheep.
And I’m wondering, do all couples do this a lot of the time? Do those families with a station wagon and 2.5 kids and a golden Lab sit down to lunch on the weekends or dinner at night after work and school and just plain enjoy one another at a table laden with good food?
It helps if one of your humans (papa calls them ‘anthros’ so maybe I’ll start calling humans ‘anthros’) can cook or even wants to try to cook, because then you have a kind of food manager who, if he or she is or they are smart, will make a couple of rules so that the head honcho/honcha/cook/chef/menu organizer/hunter-gatherer will not be driven up the curtains attempting to make everyone happy by cooking four or five separate suppers for the partakers of aforementioned lunches or dinners and will simply announce, “Dinner is on the table” and everyone is then expected to find something to put in his or her precious little tummy, be it vegetarian, vegan or carnivore without finicky demands for personal service.
I have spoken.
There’s no nonsense around here with MY food. Mama has found what I like (Purina’s Felix—because I am on the package) and she puts it out precisely at breakfast (petit dejeuner here in France—isn’t that pretty to say?), then she puts a bit of kibble somewhere in my blue dish for me to practice my hunting talents, and then she puts out my dinner at 6 or 7 pm and if I don’t eat it in 20 minutes or so, gone is my dish, into the dishwasher and there will be no more food until morning.
I like it this way. We both know where we stand (or in my case, where we squat) and as Salieri said in “Mozart”—”There it ’tis!”
I think anthros would enjoy their kitchens more if they did not have to become short-order cooks and be at the beck and call of every family member. Personally, I love to cook, and I sit right next to mama when she makes her focaccia or stirs up a sauce for pasta or flips her omelets—sometimes a little rogue piece of egg lands right in my mouth. I still don’t know how she does that….
Mama and papa love to eat together. Well, they love to eat, period, as do I (note my refawined English) and they love shopping for food together and they love having friends over for lunches or dinners and they sit around the table forever, it seems (especially when they haven’t fed me first!) and they talk and talk and talk—papa calls it ‘cheeping’, but I associate that particular word with those dumb-ass feathered peckin’-hoppers on our terrace and so I prefer to say, “chat” or “discuss” or “ruminate and then comment”….anything but cheep.
And I’m wondering, do all couples do this a lot of the time? Do those families with a station wagon and 2.5 kids and a golden Lab sit down to lunch on the weekends or dinner at night after work and school and just plain enjoy one another at a table laden with good food?
It helps if one of your humans (papa calls them ‘anthros’ so maybe I’ll start calling humans ‘anthros’) can cook or even wants to try to cook, because then you have a kind of food manager who, if he or she is or they are smart, will make a couple of rules so that the head honcho/honcha/cook/chef/menu organizer/hunter-gatherer will not be driven up the curtains attempting to make everyone happy by cooking four or five separate suppers for the partakers of aforementioned lunches or dinners and will simply announce, “Dinner is on the table” and everyone is then expected to find something to put in his or her precious little tummy, be it vegetarian, vegan or carnivore without finicky demands for personal service.
I have spoken.
There’s no nonsense around here with MY food. Mama has found what I like (Purina’s Felix—because I am on the package) and she puts it out precisely at breakfast (petit dejeuner here in France—isn’t that pretty to say?), then she puts a bit of kibble somewhere in my blue dish for me to practice my hunting talents, and then she puts out my dinner at 6 or 7 pm and if I don’t eat it in 20 minutes or so, gone is my dish, into the dishwasher and there will be no more food until morning.
I like it this way. We both know where we stand (or in my case, where we squat) and as Salieri said in “Mozart”—”There it ’tis!”
I think anthros would enjoy their kitchens more if they did not have to become short-order cooks and be at the beck and call of every family member. Personally, I love to cook, and I sit right next to mama when she makes her focaccia or stirs up a sauce for pasta or flips her omelets—sometimes a little rogue piece of egg lands right in my mouth. I still don’t know how she does that….
Hey, there, Suzanne. We’re not sure how we would like your food rules, but if they work for you, fine.
With five of us kitties, there is almost always someone wandering by the kitchen for a snack.
I’m a professional cook but I do not run a restaurant at my table! Rules are for sanity and pleasure. Thank you for commenting. Loulou sends a nuzzle.