Kitty Salad

When I came back from the coffee shop today I realized the grass on my front lawn, sparse though it may be (due in part to my asshole neighbors tearing out clumps of it and planting it in the backyard so they can have a nice green expanse to look out on from their deck), was long enough for picking. And pick it I did, so I could feed it to my spoiled ball of fur, Daphne-Moon. Kitty greens are one of her favorite treats and as her dear mummy (that would be me) is on a limited budget, I pick it for her for free.

Miss Moons could smell the springtime the second I walked in the door and she followed me, yowling, into the kitchen and continued to yowl at my feet while I washed the kitty salad in the sink. Then I sat on the floor next to her and fed it to her in clumps; she likes to grab onto a clump with the side of her mouth and munch munch munch her way up it, leaving a trail of kitty spittle in her wake. While she is munching she is purring, frenetically, and I have to be careful she doesn't gobble her way up to, and through, my fingers. She's like a furry little Al Pacino at the end of Scarface, mad for the greens the way he's mad for cocaine; she can't see anything but grass, man, and she hoovers her way through it the way he does the drug mountain on his desk.

Only when she does it it's just the cutest thing ever. Whereas the Al Pacino scene is just sad and pathetic and very Brian De Palma.