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So, last night…

everyone in my house had already gone to bed, and my cat was harassing me to feed her. (Note: my cat got a gum infection a few years ago and had to get a lot of her teeth pulled, so we have to feed her canned, wet food now.)

So, I looked in the fridge for some and didn’t find an open can. Then I checked the cupboard next to the fridge where we keep the unopened cans. Still nothing. So then I checked the pantry cupboards down the hall where we keep the ones that don’t fit in the kitchen (a lot of the time, proportionally, we buy more cat food than human food…I don’t know why) and still couldn’t find anything.

My cat had been following me around all the while, looking at me in the most hopeful of ways and basically breaking my heart, so, by that point, I was convinced that she was starving and that I’m a horrible owner. So, I set myself an alarm to get up really early and run to the store to buy food as soon as it opened. And, just for safe measure, I left a note for my dad to make sure I was up before he left for work so that I could accomplish this.

I woke up at about one o’clock this afternoon. In a guilty, angry panic. I raced downstairs, bag and keys in hand, stopping only to take in the ridiculous, mocking sight on my counter:

A bright pink, 32-can case of cat food that I immediately recognized as the mysterious box that has been sitting on the floor of my pantry for the past few weeks in a location normally used for shoes, and, as such, that I’ve been stubbing my toe on periodically upon arriving home late at night and refusing to turn on a light.

Sitting on top, in all its mean-spirited glory, was this note:

Cool, Dad…cool…

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