Before I even got the list I was sure chocolate would be on it, and coffee and tea, and I was right. Alcohol is also forbidden, which I don't mind because I hardly drink anyway due to wicked hangovers, but I am really ticked off about the cheese and tomatoes. All those yummy recipes some of you have been posting are driving me insane. Yes, I mean you, and you and you. I can't have potatoes either, or mushrooms, which I would have said were the meekest, mildest veggies imaginable. I can't have apples, peaches, strawberries, or plums.
Two things I can happily enjoy, however, are lamb patties and acorn squash, so that was what Grant made for dinner last Saturday and Sunday, the reprise being mostly for the benefit of Miss B. Her veggie palate is fairly narrow, but she has decided she looooves acorn squash, especially with butter and cinnamon and brown sugar on it. Well, really, who wouldn't?
Meanwhile, back at the Never-Ending Saga of the Elderly Cat, Ed spent several weeks meandering between his makeshift bed (read: cardboard flat lined with a towel), the food dish, and the litterbox. The new just-for-him litterbox is four feet from the food dish, which is two feet from the bed, so as not to require great navigating skills, but when he found the litterbox after several days there was great rejoicing. A few days after that he started wanting to go outdoors again, which we allow under close supervision, and after a few more days he found his way to the living-room sofa, a whole 15 feet from the food dish and the litterbox and apparently vastly superior to the bed.
(That's Callie keeping him company.)
So things were clearly looking up, and we weren't too surprised when, as Grant was serving Sunday dinner, Ed climbed on his chair and attempted a commando raid on the lamb. We of course removed him, but he was not easily discouraged, trying several more times during dinner. Finally, when we had all finished eating and Grant and Miss B had excused themselves, I let Ed get up and polish off the lamb crumbs on my plate. I figured there wasn't enough there to freak out his kidneys, and he'd get down when the lamb was gone.
Where is Marlin Perkins when we need him? The poor squash rind never had a chance.