A lap's eye view. I am chillin' in my pink cherry jammypants, watching a DVD of "Newlyweds," or as I've come to think of it, "Anatomy of a Divorce." Nick and Jessica's immaturity continues to amaze and entertain me. A steaming bowl of edamame warms my lap and fills my belly, tiny bean by tiny bean. Sigh. Relax. Snack.
Suddenly, and without invitation, Calpurnia expresses her interest in my edamame. "No," I say firmly, scootching her away from my bowl. "Cat food is for cats. Edemame is for people. Don't be pushy."
Calpurnia sits on the edge of the bed and gives me the hypnotic evil kitty staredown. "I will eat your edamame one way or another." Soon I am mesmerized by her guilt-inducing pouty staring, and I consider that edemame might not be so bad for her disgestion, after all.
Finally, I relent and share the little green soy yummy beans. I pop about six or seven beans into a bowl for Calpurnia. In my bed. Because Calpurnia is utterly pampered and indulged.
She's not really going to eat soybeans, is she? I mean, sometimes I let her lick a little yogurt or ice cream off my fingertip as a treat, but would she really eat vegetables?
Yes, she is going to eat them. And with quite a bit of evident enjoyment. Zoom shows little green bits of edamame on her pink tongue. So cute.
Then, when her bowl is empty, with a flick of her fluffy tail, she turns her little kitty butt to my face, and she is gone. Until the next time the microwave goes BEEP BEEP BEEP.