A friend gave me a Hamilton-Beach electric grill awhile back. It's basically their knock-off of a George Foreman grill; you put the stuff in the grill, close the upper lid and the drippings run off. The plats come right out, it's easy to clean, it doesn't smoke and it's a nice little unit.
Tonight I used it to cook up some boneless chicken parts that had been on sale. I had some of the pieces and refrigerated the rest for later use. I left the grill on the counter to cool before cleaning.
My kitchen is in a corner of the apartment and, because there are no windows, it is dark if I haven't turned the light on. As I walked into the kitchen, I heard "laplaplaplap," but I couldn't see anything. I turned on the light and there was George, up on the counter, licking the grill clean. (I didn't see him because the electric grill is black and so is George.) George knows he's not supposed to be on the counter; he always jumps down fast when he's busted. But he is a willful cat.
He did a pretty good job of cleaning it, it just took a little bit of soap and water to finish up. He might have a new job, at that.
Gracie hopped up on the couch the other night and laid down next to me, accompanied by the rank smell of stale cat poop. Sure enough, she had gotten shit on her ass again, so once more, it was off to the shower for her. That is fun for both of us. (Of course, she managed to press her shit-laden posterior against my thigh, which meant the nightgown I was wearing went right into the wash.)
Never a dull moment with these critters.....
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1 comment:
Oh, jeebus. We have ass-washing problems in La Casa de Los Gatos, too. There's always one goddamned offender, ain't there?
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