Last week, I made dinner for Bryan and myself. While I was cooking, I set a big bowl of bright red watermelon on the coffee table for B to munch on.
“I wonder if the cats like watermelon?” I thought aloud as I set the bowl down. I held out a small piece of fruit to Batman, and he ate it.
“Maybe Henry will like it, too!” B said. He picked up a small piece and held it in front of Henry’s nose. Henry rubbed his face against B’s wrist and started walking away. “No! Eat it!” B explained to the cat. He moved his hand so it was in front of Henry’s face again, but Henry just kept walking.
“Maybe he doesn’t like it,” I said, walking back into the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?”
“Milk, please,” B responded. I poured the milk into a pink cup and handed it to B on the couch. Then, I returned to the kitchen to plate our dinner.
“Here, Batman!” I heard B call. “Here’s some watermelon!”
Batman looked at B but didn’t make any moves toward the snack.
“Come on! You like this!” B cajoled. “You just ate some! Eat this piece!”
Nothing.
“Set it on the floor and see if they’ll eat it that way,” I offered from the other room.
As I arranged the food on our plates, I could hear B mumbling to the cats in the living room. After a few minutes, I grabbed some napkins, silverware and our plates and joined B again on the couch. Setting our dinner down on the coffee table, I noticed something on the floor.
A small pile of watermelon. Surrounded by a puddle of milk. And a trail of milk leading from the cats to the puddle.
I looked at B. “Did you make a milk trail so the cats would eat the watermelon?”
“…maybe,” he blushed.
I burst out laughing. “Seriously?!”
“Well, it didn’t work,” he relented, reaching for his plate and fork.
“Umm, are you going to clean up the mess?” I asked him.
“In a little bit,” he answered. “They might still eat it.”
“They’re not going to eat it.”
He looked at me. I looked at him.
“Sigh. Fine!” he whined, walking into the kitchen to retrieve paper towel.
Better luck next time.
Jillian Wyatt 