24 November 2016

Thanksgiving Day so far....

6:30 a.m. Max is at the bedroom door, yakking his damn furry head off. 

Me: It's not time to eat.
Max: Food o'clock is almost here.
Me: You had a snack at three this morning. You are not hungry.
Max: Yes I am.
Me: It's not possible.
Max: I AM STARVING.
Me: You're waiting until after seven.
Max: I hate you. You're not my real mom.
Me: Yeah, well, I have the thumbs. Go away.

Every 30 seconds: meow, meow, meow

7 a.m.

Max: I AM DYING HERE I AM SO HUNGRY I WILL EAT BUDDAH IF YOU DON'T FEED ME NOW
Me: Fine, you little shit.
Max: (following me down the hall) You know, I could trade you in on a better model.
Me: Shuddup.
Max: I AM STARVING TO DEATH.
Me: You know, there's dry food.
Max: To quote Wick, dry food is for peasants.

I get out plates, I open a can, scoop out half for Buddah, half for Max. Buddah starts scarfing it down. Max looks at it like, WTF?

Max: I'm not eating this.
Me: You said you were starving. You like this flavor.
Max: Yeah, but it's not what I wanted.
Me: It's got shrimp in it. Your favorite.
Max: I want something else.
Me: Three days ago you ate this like it was your last meal.
Max: I want something else.

I cave, I open a can of roast beef.

Max: There you go. Making yourself useful.
Me: Just eat it.

5 minutes later:

Max: You performed adequately.
Me: Go find something to do that doesn't involve me.
Max: Fine, but we'll be repeating this performance at two o'clock.
Me: You don't eat again until five.
Max: You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you? See you at two.

=sigh=