Last night I was opening a can of tuna when I realized it was filled with oil. Annoyed with myself, I thought, “You ALWAYS check this kind of thing, Michele. What the hell?” I turned to check on the other can of tuna I purchased at the same time. That tuna was submerged in water. Tuna is supposed to be in water. Duh.
Damn grocery people, mixing it up.
I had already opened the can of tuna submerged in murky oil, so I decided to turn to the three kitties who live out back behind the neighbor’s house. I have fed them tuna from our third floor window before and know for a fact that they are usually outside. I find this to be torturous, actually. I think about them all the time and have wanted to bring them inside several times. And it’s worse when it’s as cold as it was last night.
Poor babies. I’ll feed them some oily tuna. That will warm them up.
I reached for the window in the kitchen, the only window without a screen. This is the window one uses the hang the laundry out to dry when it’s not 40 below zero and there isn’t white shit blowing off of every rooftop in Brooklyn. It’s been too cold to do laundry lately. And besides, our machine broke last week, we’re getting a new one installed today, as a matter of fact.
The sill was covered in water. Along with water surrounding the base of the window, there is a layer of ice which had built up along the sides and glass. ICE! Thick ice. I called on Toby.
Toby, can you come look at this?
I stood in the kitchen, a can of oily tuna in one hand, and a paper towel in the other trying to explain to him why and how I was trying to get out the window open at 10 p.m.
You can’t get out there right now. It’s frozen shut. You’ll end up breaking it.
But I need to feed the kitties.
Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t feed the kitties. The window is frozen shut. It will have to wait till tomorrow.
In my head, these cats were going to die without the oily tuna. They would freeze to death like the Nestor, the Long Eared Christmas Donkey’s mother had, a death which would have been the Long Eared Christmas Donkey’s had his mother not have loved him so much and he wasn’t destined to carry Mary and the unborn Baby Jesus to Jerusalem on a night in the future.
I really have to feed those kitties.
It will have to wait till tomorrow when the sun comes out and the window thaws.
I wrapped the can up in a layer of tinfoil and put it on the window sill till morning. (Only not really. I used the fridge. But we could use the windowsill considering it’s a bloody freezer.)
This morning, before proceeding outdoors to buy presents, I must check on the welfare of these furry future life savers and give them some oily tuna. They are, after all, the only creatures I know of who might like this weird species of tuna who would rather swim through oil over perfectly wholesome all-natural spring water.
Tuna will give these kitties fuel and keep them alive. I will thereby be helping Jesus.
You might need to see the inside of my head to understand this nonsense.
Don’t worry, I understand. White Shit=stupid grocers=oily fish swimming in oil=frozen window=hungry kitties=salvation for you and your friends.
Who wouldn’t understand?
Where does Nestor come in, however? I think I need to be psychoanalyzed.
What, I said salvation for you AND YOUR FRIENDS. Unless Nestor isn’t your friend. Don’t you like Nestor? He likes you.
Yes, well, you are right. I do often relate to and enjoy the company of claymation.
you eat tuna?
you eat tuna and are married to a vegan? wtf?
Yes, I eat tuna and I married a vegan. Toby eats lettuce and he married a woman who eats tuna. He drinks coffee as well. Sometimes, I have blueberry pie and potato chips as well. I like cheese and tofu. But not together. Usually.
Just the sole fact that Nestor, The Long Eared Donkey ventured into your consciousness is awesome in itself.
Nestor – he rules
Canned tuna (in oil or water) is one of the only foods out there that Mitch will absolutely not touch. He doesn’t even like me to open it in his presence much less in the apartment.
Same. bad tuna.
> He doesn’t even like me to open it in his presence much less in the apartment.
That’s because canned tuna is vile. I nearly vomit any time i smell or see it.
TUNA CASSEROLE RULES !
Down with tuna!
swack squeak squeak hahahahah swak
That was my dolphin friend agreeing.
Aw! That’s a lovely Christmas story! I think Nestor fits in perfect.
Merry Christmas, kitties. Merry Christmas, Mihow.
…and Merry Christmas, Tuna! Ho Ho Ho!
Chele thinks of Nestor every Christmas. I really don’t remember the story.
ps. omg no more cats!!!
Um.. I think someone’s in need of some firing
cough merry christmas, tuna cough
I can’t seem to shake the tuna.