Have I mentioned that I hate cats?

Well, maybe not hate them. But I'm definitely not a "pet person", and I find it odd that so many people want to enjoy the luxury of wasting huge amounts of their disposable income on birds, cats, and dogs--or baby seals for that matter. Not that I'm opposed. Baby seals have their uses.

In the case of cats, their attitude toward their support providers and demonstrated level of gratitude are well known. A cat will eat all you provide, but in return it will not fetch a stick; nor in fact do anything at all. In fact most of the things it will fetch you don't want to know about. Owners sometimes mistake a cat's calculating squint for a a look of love. In fact, the cat is calculating how many days it could live on your carcass if you dropped dead, providing it saved the juicy bits for later.

Nonetheless, the SO has managed to acquire two. Perhaps they were infesting the apartment when she moved in? But they have to eat something; I sleep with goggles on.

So having done nothing physical today beyond make pancakes, I trotted out to our local pet store. There I purchased the food that they are allowed to eat (one of them has allergies, apparently. Can a cat have an allergy to cats?)

I made arrangements to pre-pay for a large bag at $40 or so, and picked up the regular size of bag, which runs $15. I paid my $44 and walked out.

. . . about ten feet. I looked slightly more carefully at my reiceipt. In the excitement of totting up my bill for the special-order bag, the salesgirl had forgotten to charge me for the one under my arm.

I considered the fact that for an admixture of dead horse, miscellaneous chicken parts, duck (!) and assorted grains I was considering returning to be billed roughly about the same as mid-grade hamburger.

Then I turned and walked doggedly away. Screw 'em if they can't keep track of their inventory.

Okay, okay. I went back and paid for it. My honour, cheap and grubby though it occasionally is, is worth a good deal more than fifteen bucks.