Beggars and Choosers

The way to the heart

Begins with food on the tongue.

Everyone knows this.

I refuse to start a story with "Once upon a time," so let's just say that this happened a while ago, but it bears repeating.

The humom and I used to live in a different place, long before the twerps came, long before I found the way to the Fishies From the Sky, in a house with a big backyard, an annoying neighbor dog that I used to beat up, and its own set of neighborhood cats.

One fool kept skulking around the house--my house--at all hours of the day and night, any time I wasn't outside (yes, I do remember outside, though it's been a long while). This tomcat thought he'd go looking for handouts from my stash. Fortunately, I'd trained my humom well:

Stranger: Feed me! Feed me! I'm sta-a-a-a-arving out here. C'mon, you got any tuna? You look like the kind of folks who'd have tuna.

Me: Scram, nitwit, she won't feed you anything.

...and so forth. But he wouldn't give up, and at four in the morning, the humom had enough.

Humom: Fine, whatever.

(See, humom, don't go complaining about my attitude.)

Humom: Great, I'm almost out of your food, Ella, and I don't have time to go to the store tomorrow. Let's see what else I have.

Not long after, I heard a package opening and the rattle of kibble. When I came to inspect, I almost laughed. I had forgotten about the cheap box of junk kibble she'd gotten as emergency food one night when the stores were closed. If she wanted to give the tom that filth, good riddance.

And good riddance it was. He took one bite and never came begging again.