"Footloose"

"The Proplan Playoffs"
(Dinner is Swerved)

Mom's home and that can only mean one thing. Dinner.

Eight little tails sashay into the kitchen, waving back and forth in anticipation. "Hurry up mom, we're hungry". These cats never go hungry. What they mean to say is hurry up we're bored with this morning's food. I go into the next room to select dinner. Kenya follows me in to help me choose. She's hopping up and down in her excitement. "That one mommy. No, pick this one instead. No, noooo, we had turkey this morning." Boots is waiting impatiently for his boiled chicken, which he hasn't had since this morning. "So, pick already. I'm hungry here." I'm being encircled by anxious bodies gliding around my ankles.

I put the canned food into the bowls and I wade through a sea of fur to put the food down. Buster immediately blocks Zeke and manages to cover up one entire bowl for himself. Zeke is big enough to swallow Buster whole, but he backs away and goes to the other dish. Buster is a little bully, especially when it comes to food. Of course, Princess I-Want-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It Kenya is no shrinking violet herself. She just butts her way right in while someone is in mid chew. She's got a set of shoulders that a fishmonger's wife at a bargain sale would envy.

Now I fill the dry food bowls. Gizmo has chewed open just about every bag of dry food we have on hand. In our house there is always at least one 10 lb bag of Proplan patched up with Mr. Tally's favorite all-purpose repair material, duct tape. Gizzy has somehow managed to find the one remaining spot on the bag that was still intact. I'm pouring the food out through the irregular hole in the bottom, which he has so thoughtfully provided. I overfill the bowl and the excess is sitting in a little mound in the center. Buster immediately has a fit. "Its too high, mom, it's too high." And he gets his little paw in there and starts leveling the heap by flinging it behind him.

Kenya loves to play hockey. How kind of Buster to have provided her with a cup and a half of dry food all over the slick linoleum floor. It's a Puck Bonanza!! Before I can say "Busterbrat!" Kenya shoots. 9 pairs of eyes, mine included, follow the little Made With Real Chicken puck as it slides across the floor. Wham! Right between the chair legs. She scores! There goes another, under the stove. And another right between the door jams. She's got a Hat Trick! The crowd goes wild. It's a free for all. Pucks for everyone! Tally and Buster are practicing handoffs to each other, while Gizmo runs back and forth calling out of bounds, and eating the the illegal passes. There's some heated discussion about the referee's calls, but Gizmo puts an end to it with a single gulp. Buster is skidding down the length of the floor, back legs splayed out, his body slowly rotating in a 360 degree circle, scattering food everywhere. He throws himself sideways, attempting to brake his little feet. Thunk. Too late. Right into the dishwasher. Buster is still having difficulty getting his front and back ends to go in the same direction, and he slams into the sideboards more than once.

Donovan is sitting passively in the doorway to the service porch, watching the action on the ice, uh, floor and unknowingly playing Goalie. A couple of flying pieces are abruptly stopped and engulfed under his jelly belly, which is hanging over his little toes. What a save! If only he knew it. If only he could see it.

Kenya is totally out of control, flapping her paws every which way and body checking anyone unfortunate enough to be in her way. She runs into a wall, and in her momentary confusion starts chasing her tail. After a few circles, she regains her orientation and resumes her slapshots. Boots is making himself dizzy following the puck paths from his perch on the kitchen counter. He about went cross eyed when two incoming from opposite directions collided directly beneath him.

Meanwhile 18 lb. Zeke, being the truly serious eater that he is, pivots himself around the careening ProPlan without ever taking his face out of the food dish, oblivious to the commotion surrounding him. I can hear him telling Sammy between mouthfuls, "Focus is everything. Never, ever, let anything break your concentration". Sammy isn't listening. He's concentrating on stuffing as much Proplan as he can under the fridge for safekeeping. This is undoubtedly part of his disaster preparedness program. You can't be too prepared here in earthquake, flood, fire, and mud slide country. I can only imagine what else lies beneath that refrigerator.

There's dry food everywhere. Under the table, under the chairs, under the stove, along the base boards, and in the service porch. I am having some difficulty sweeping up the debris. They're all facing off with the broom for possession of the puck, and its batted away by some quick little paw as soon as its gathered up.

Well I have to lay down flat on my stomach to reach along between the wall and the stove where the broom doesn't fit. This is not a particularly graceful task as I haven't been as diligent with the Norditrack as I might have been. I find a magnetic hook, a cat toy, a potholder, a couple of dried up old peas, and some Proplan. I'm raking it all into a pile. As I reach my arm down along the stove for a second sweep, Mr. Tally comes in with Chinese take out, and immediately assesses the situation. Cats everywhere. Dry food everywhere. Me flat on the floor with my outstretched arm and body encircling a pile of dry food. His hand reaches inside the paper bag.

"Hold still honey, I want to see if I can score with the fortune cookie." Smirk.

Oh boy. My dinner is being swerved…….