Bringing Home The Bacon

Episode Two Hundred Forty Eight: Bringing Home The Bacon.
In which we wax verbose.

1 comment:

  1. This comic chronicling the nightmare that it is to be my cat. Of course, this never really happened, but my cat does stand next to me in my kitchen every minute that I am at the sink, or at the stove, or slumped in front of the open fridge, pleading with me to feed her as though she hasn't eaten for weeks. It's exasperating.

    In truth, though, infantilizing babbling aside, my cat does not need to exercise patience against excessive monologues. It's my children who are subject to my numbingly meandering digressions.

    I *have* spent excessive time struggling with how to solve that maths puzzle, however. If I buy two boxes of 24 cans each, one seafood-based and the other abbatoir-floor-sweepings-based, what is the total possible number of iterations that I can glean from that, and would there be an ideal pattern that my cat would find most fulfilling? I get lost in the logic, and always return to the suspicion that there's absolutely no correlation in her brain for any such satisfaction. Food is just food. Either she's eating, or she's upset that she's not eating.

    This ongoing indecisiveness is a disconnect that marks all my relationships, and I'm still not clear on how it relates to my own position on my own dietary habits.



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