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Caturday Pootie Diary: Silly kitty, treats are for humans [1]
['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.']
Date: 2023-12-09
"What’s that?” Freddie asked.
I looked down at the cookie in my hand. “Gingerbread,” I said, taking another bite.
“It looks like something I would like,” he said, casually.
I shook my head. “Too many spices. Toxic for kitties.”
“You shouldn’t eat things I can’t share,” he sniffed.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦 Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly. There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
“It’s chocolate mint iced coffee,” I said, taking a big gulp of the frothy goodness. I had a long day of baking planned and needed the caffeine.
“It smells bad,” Freddie said. “But also good.”
“That’s probably the mint. Mint is close to catnip.”
“It’s a catnip drink?!” he said, sitting up.
I set the glass down on the table next to the couch. “No. It’s coffee with chocolate and mint. There are several things in it you absolutely can’t have.”
“But I want a catnip drink,” he said, pouting.
I thought about it. “There are ways to make catnip tea,” I said. “Do you think you could drink some without making a mess?”
“Of course! I never make a mess!”
I snorted. “Then why do I have to wash your food mat so often?”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Rolling out dough,” I said, carefully pushing the oily dough to the corners of the marble slab I owned for that purpose.
“You’re making Freddie treats?” he asked.
“It’s christmas pitta for the family,” I explained. “You can’t have it.”
He leaned forward to smell it, but I shooed him back. “It has cinnamon and raisins. You can’t have it,” I said again.
“Boo!” he said
With the first batch of pitta baking, it was time to make the caramels. I had bought some pre-cut parchment squares (cutting the parchment squares was the part I hated most about making caramels) so I figured I should make some. I measured some apple cider into a saucepan and set it on low heat to cook down into a syrup.
Freddie rubbed against my legs, aggressively.
My knee buckled as he threw his weight against the back of it. “Freddie!” I squealed, grabbing the kitchen counter to stop my fall.
“Is that for me?” he asked, hopeful.
I looked at the saucepan and then back to him. “No, I’m sorry, little guy. I’m making some candy for the neighbors. You wouldn’t like it.”
“Put some tuna in it!” he demanded.
I laughed. “That’s gross.”
I poured heated honey over the first batch of pitta, spooning the overflow back over the pastries. Freddie watched from the one of the kitchen island chairs, his face hopeful.
I shook my head. “Raisins and cinnamon,” I reminded him.
I poured puffed rice cereal into the hot browned butter and melted marshmallow mixture and picked up a spatula to stir it all together. This was the hardest part and I struggled to get it all incorporated.
Freddie made a little chirping noise behind me, reminding me he was there.
“You wouldn’t like this either,” I said.
He growled.
“These have chocolate,” I said, scooping cookie dough into small balls and spacing them out on parchment lined cookie sheets.
“I can’t have chocolate,” he said, his voice flat.
I looked over my shoulder at him. “I guess there’s not a lot of Christmas treats you can have,” I said, sadly.
“And I love treats!” he wailed.
I put my feet up, sighing in relief. The house smelled of chocolate and cinnamon and honey, and piles of baked and unbaked treats lined the kitchen counters in piles of Christmas treasure.
Freddie climbed onto my lap as soon as it was available. I automatically started to pet him. “It’s been a busy day,” I observed.
“Yeah,” he agreed, making slow biscuits on my thigh.
“I’m sorry there was — ouch! — nothing for you today.”
“Christmas is hard for a cat,” he said, mournfully.
I looked over at the treat bag, conveniently in reach. I picked it up. “Would this help?” I asked.
“I should get more than three!” he demanded.
I shook a few out onto my palm. “Only a few more,” I said.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! And happy Hanukkah to all da peeps who celebrate!
[END]
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