One of the most egregious crimes about Mom being gone is that there’s no one home at 3:45. That means there’s no one to glare at to initiate the 4:00 can-opening ritual. By the time I get home at 5:15, everyone is PISSED.
It was made even worse because I got home and paid attention to THE DOG, who needed to go relieve himself outside like a good boy. Then I had the sheer GALL to stand there and talk to him and give him pets while the cats all withered away to nothing from lack of food.
Look at poor Nutter. He lost at least two hundredths of an ounce waiting for me to perform the Can Dance. He didn’t seem to approve of me saying “Aww, poor hungry baby, are you ready? Do you want it?!?”
I’m a little surprised I didn’t wake up to a present in the bed with me.