Warning: Cat Food

Every night when I come home from work (which takes me seven minutes), I undress down to my skivvies (I'm not a clothes person, much to the delight of the audience of my private webcam) and go to the bathroom (a total of six minutes). After coming out of the bathroom, I check the fridge for leftovers. I love leftovers and cleaning out old food from the fridge; throwing packaging material gives me so much pleasure (not because I'm polluting, but because I'm reducing).

Now, you have to realize I'm pretty oblivious to real world things. I don't watch TV, I certainly don't read the news, and I don't pay attention to what's going on around me. On the rare occasions that I'm outside, I don't check both ways before crossing the street (there's a reason behind this, which can be traced back to a long-since-forgotten Isaac Asimov story). The only thought running through my mind is "get more work done" (tonight, it's finishing up my MacTech article). Launching into a distracted masticulation with a three-week old piece of meat is pretty common-place around here, and my girlfriend regularly regales me with stories of my internal populus of worms.

Tonight, I opened up the fridge and saw a note sitting on a small circular plate covered in brown meat, which kinda look like taco beef. I love meat as much as people praise Krispy Kremes (I've never had one; who'll FedEx me a box?). I moved the note aside without reading it ("why the hell would someone put a note in the fridge?", never thinking that the very juxtaposition signals something important) and gazed admiringly at the taco beef and sketch of disgruntled cat.

Wait, what?

Oh. Huh. The note says "cat food". Yup, my girlfriend has me pegged.