Sunday, August 28, 2011

Pancakes for Possum

I can't make pancakes; they always come out raw in the middle. Based on a small, lifelong research study I began when I was about 4, which includes my parents, grandparents, and godparents, I have concluded that men are better at making pancakes than women. Fortunately, I married a pancake professional. Show him a box of Aunt Jemima Original and he will go to town.

Today's storm put us in the mood for butter and syrup. Indeed, breakfast was the exciting part of the day because the tropical storm Irene turned out to be not much of anything around here — although it did manage to bring down some nice old trees. Quite unnecessarily, we thought. Some trees, like willows, will jump at any excuse to fall over.

All we need to do is think about pancakes and Snalbert instinctively knows. He loves them; he loves all kinds of carbs. He'll sit on the table yelling enthusiastically, long before the mixing bowl and frying pans come out. He gets his own tiny pancakes dipped in syrup, and then he gets some of mine, and then he washes his sticky whiskers like a gentleman. Snalbert is the only cat who can routinely join us at meals because he keeps a polite distance from serving dishes and our plates.

But Possum joined the three of us at the table for his first encounter with pancakes. He was curious to know what all the howling was about. He waited patiently until Snalbert left, and approached his bowl, which had a few remaining pieces. He didn't know what to make of them, so he tried scooping them up with his paw to study and sample them. This is something Maine Coon cats do, and I hope it serves them better than it does Possum. All he does is make a mess; he still doesn't have the knack of getting food into his mouth. It's hilarious to watch. He licked syrup off his paw, and tried scooping up some pancakes several more times, scattering them onto the table as soon as he felt the sticky sensation on his pads. He decided he didn't like having goopy paws and gave up.

Possum doesn't see the point of pancakes.

Wendy arrived immediately after he left. She took one sniff, discovered that pancakes don't smell like chicken or turkey, and took off. Wendy has limited interest in people food. She has yet to figure out the point of cheese, for example.

The youngsters' lack of enthusiasm is fine with us. We've already got one pancake fiend and we don't need another one.

1 comment:

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