Oh You Get to Eat Whatever You Want I Guess

This damn cat Hallie isn't trained at all, even by the standards you would expect of a homeless, feral kitten sputtering helplessly in a garbage can. Like most pets, Hallie is given one thing to eat: pet food. But unlike most pets, Hallie has decided to take matters into her own paws when it comes to meal times.

Hallie's master Nick, who is unwilling or unable (or both) to teach her the proper ways becoming of a feline, left the home for two days over Thanksgiving. That means that I had to feed Hallie, because she needs food every day. So I did. I gave her a heaping bowl full of pellets or whatever the first day Nick was gone -- more than enough food to feed her, let alone a normal, trained cat. Hallie apparently wasn't happy with that and, once I left, figured out where her heavily medicated treats were -- in the cabinet below the sink -- and went for it.

I don't think Hallie has seen "The Italian Job" or "Blue Crush" (or maybe it's not "Blue Crush" but whatever that Martin Lawrence movie is where he hides the diamond in the police station -- "Blue Streak" maybe), or any other movies about heists. But she could have fooled me! I came home the next day to find the cabinet door being propped open by the bag of treats, which by the way had a goddamn rip through the middle of it that strongly resembled the mark of an untrained claw, and oh yeah there were catnip treats everywhere all over the floor. Did I mention that Hallie had vomited, again, all over the floor downstairs? Probably because of the treats, you damn cat!