I made banana bread yesterday. It turned out quite good, if I must say so myself. Last night we were laying in bed watching the TV. And Toby was on his third chunk of the stuff. He turned to me for about 3 seconds, turned back and his banana bread was gone. He thought to himself, “Did he eat the banana bread and not remember doing so? Where has it gone?” He looks around a bit more, realizing he hadn’t.

Schmitty, you punk.

He says it as if he’s talking to an older brother.
As it turns out, Schmitty grabbed that hunk of bread from the bedside table and threw it to the floor at his feet. He nibbled. He was pleased.
My cat loves muffins. It’s weird. He’ll eat the lids off of them like they’re made from tuna. I remember a time when I lived with a few folks during college, my roommate, Gina, slaved over making mini-muffins for a potluck we were having. They were lemon, poppy-seed. They were so good. So good, Schmitty decided that night, while we slept, to begin the most horrific mini-muffin massacre in the history of baking. There we muffins everywhere. Not one lid was unchewed. Not a one. How do you apologize for something like that?