Squashed...

Jupiter Jones, the precious, precocious orange blessed thing who came into our lives back in May and who I dearly love and cherish and would never zing a harmful thought toward (ahem), really pushed his limits and my buttons this weekend. He's entered his explorer phase, which I understand to be normal for cats his age, but since Jupiter isn't really what anyone would consider normal (he pees on people while he chirps and purrs, y'all, so normal has gone outside to sit) - I'm sorry, what was I saying? To heck with it. Here's what happened.

Saturday, I wanted comfort food - or what is comfort food for me. I decided to have skillet spaghetti made with spaghetti squash. It's on oldie-but-goodie that I've loved since my teeny-tiny apartment dwelling days, and always helps me conjure the feeling of relief I would get at being in my teeny-tiny little apartment after an infuriating day dealing with the world's worst boss at an industrial automation supplier. Translation - it is MAJOR comfort food. One of my favorite things, really. And I'm rambling because I'm still trying to sort out just why the hell Jupiter did what the hell he did - which I swear I am getting to.

So what did he do? He sat in the shit. I had thawed a frozen portion of spaghetti squash, my last one, and had it in a colander in the sink to drain. Jupiter Jones sat in it, like, full-on cat-butt-in-my-dinner sat in it. He got in the sink, and he sat in the shit. And that is what he did. So I put it down the disposal, as one would be prone to do when one's dinner has just had a cat's ass all over it.

Now - is there anyone still out there who questions my insistence as to the abnormality of this cat's mental workings? I love him, but *damn*.