Sunday Punny Sunday

Hubster and I are the custodians of, and personal servants to, an enormously fat, grey tabby cat. A cat who has developed an obsession with scrambled eggs.

Understand, we do not feed table food to the animals. At all. Ever. We spend a great deal of money on special-needs dog and cat food and I'm not about to upset the balance of nutrition provided by those freaking expensive pellets by sneaking scraps of pork fat to the little carnivores among us.

But the tabby... a few months ago he snuck a bit of egg from my breakfast plate when I got up to answer the phone - and has been a cat possessed ever since.

Every morning he follows me around, giving me the eye, assuming - knowing - I have eggs.

Oh, if only I would share! The torture he is subjected to at my, fork... is unbearable! Somebody, call the ASPCA.

Probably the only reason he hasn't extracted his revenge by killing me in my sleep is that he knows as The Woman goes, so go his chances of ever again sinking his tiny teeth into buttery, tarragon-infused, yolky yumminess.

This morning Hub and I eschewed the Waffle House (possibly the first time in the history of the English language the words "Waffle House" and "eschewed" have been used together) in favor of breakfast at home.

I made French toast. Tabby thought I'd made eggs...because he ALWAYS thinks I've made eggs.

Down we sat to enjoy The Most Important Meal of the Day when Hub asked: "Why is Tabby giving me the stink eye?"

I explained the egg situation and said....

Are you ready for this?

I said: Maybe we should send him to Oeuf-er Eaters Anonymous.


Then I snorted and nearly choked to death on orange juice.

I'm not completely convinced Tabby didn't have something to do with that.


Comet Girl said…
Tres bien! I'm so proud of that pun I could bust! Tres bien fait!
Tom said…
That was horrible!! I loved it so much I subjected Dory to it.